Truth Be Told
by Karuka Ikashi
Summary: The Well of Uncomfortable Truths is discovered & deals Spain a hard fact- "Whenever you said you loved him,you didn't really mean it. You were thinking of his brother. They were empty words." Can Romano be convinced about whom the Well was talking about?
1. Chapter 1

**Truth Be Told**

Spain downed the last of his sangria with a single gulp. It was no good. The buzz didn't make him feel any better, but maybe talking to France would. At the very least, it might help him figure out how to go about fixing the mess he was in. The blonde man always made a good counselor…even if Spain had to deal with the not-so-subtle groping that he was usually too distracted to notice as he poured his heart out. Either that or he was too used to it to notice anymore.

"Go ahead, _mon ami_," France said, rubbing his friend on the back, "Tell me what's troubling you."

"You should know," Spain hiccupped miserably. "You were there."

France smiled and put down his glass of wine. He was happy his friend had decided to come out to his house to have a drink with him. It seemed they rarely got to spend much time together anymore since Spain had fallen into another one of his sulky states.

"Ahh, so this is about _that _incident, hmm? Well, have you tried just saying you're sorry?"

Spain shook his head.

"Romano won't listen to a word I say. I still don't understand what's got him so upset. We weren't even going out anymore when it happened. The break-up happened weeks ago."

"Yes," said France, knowingly, "I remember. You were a weepy mess for days."

"I know…I thought I'd lost him for good. But when I heard what it said about him," Spain continued, unaware of the fact that France's hand was going dangerously low now, "I thought maybe he still loved me. I thought that maybe he might want to get back together."

He stared at his empty glass, depressed and feeling just as drained on the inside as the pain of those memories came back to him. He had messed up badly, not being able to defend himself against Romano's accusations from that time - the accusations that he had been eying his brother whenever the younger Italian sibling had come to visit. It was true that Spain doted on Veneziano excessively and gladly gave him the hugs and kisses he accepted so easily when Romano would have surely pushed him away for doing the same thing. But love? He had tried to love Italy - tried even harder when Romano had gotten sick of Spain's apparent "two-timing" and moved out, but it had never felt the same. He would always love Romano and only Romano. The two had finally been back on speaking terms at the time of "the incident," but now he was broken, hurt, and still alone. And not even another glass of sangria was going to change that.

**THE INCIDENT**

"Well? Are we just gonna stare at it or what?"

Prussia's squawking broke everyone out of their transfixed looks, making them jump slightly in unison. Austria adjusted the glasses on his nose while Hungary peered warily around him. England and France were both staring at the object with frowns on their faces. The British man had his arms crossed and was leaning away in a disapproving stance, matching Romano, who stood nearby. The last person, Spain, was the first to answer the red-eyed man's question.

"If this is what you say it is, _mi amigo_, then we should put it to the test. Each of us will throw a coin in and listen to what the well has to tell us."

He gestured at the sign next to the structure that had been unexpectedly discovered on the border of Spain and France's territories while Prussia had been visiting them. It made the function of the well perfectly clear: **This is the Well of Uncomfortable Truths. Let all those who wish to test their hearts cast in a coin, and the truth shall be told. **

"But it's supposed to be the well of _uncomfortable _truths," Hungary pointed out. "Which means we're not likely to want to hear what it says."

"Yes, maybe it's best if we left it alone," Austria agreed, eying the well with obvious discomfort. He and Hungary had only come because of Spain's insistence. It had hardly turned out to be the "big discovery" he had had in mind.

"You're all just a bunch of cowards!" Prussia laughed. "Especially you, Specs! You wouldn't touch danger with a ten-foot pole! Go back to playing your piano, you big sissy!"

He earned a resounding smack from Hungary's frying pan, which she had conveniently brought with her. It seemed to Prussia she always had one.

"If you're so brave, why don't you go first!" she challenged, shoving him towards the well.

Prussia rubbed the sizable bump on his head and stood up straight, puffing out his chest in a motion of quick recovery.

"Of course I will! The awesome me isn't afraid of some clump of stones and water!"

Without further hesitation or insults, the feisty nation dug into his pocket and pulled out a coin. With one flip of his thumb, he sent the money spinning into the air and down into the depths to the well. After a moment, the group could hear a small plop as metal hit water, and suddenly, a voice echoed through the well's stony depths, startling them all.

**"You had the biggest crush on her…until you learned she was female."**

There was a shocked silence, and Prussia's eyes bulged as he stared at Hungary in panic. The frying pan-wielding woman had already figured out who the well was referring to, though, and she took an intimidating step towards the man, tightening her grip on the cooking ware.

"Prussiaaa…"

"N-no! You've got it wrong! You're not the one it's talking about! I never thought of you like that! And I never liked guys! It was a lie! Lie! Liiiiieeeee!"

His last screech pierced the air as Hungary bolted after him, and the rest of the group could hear the clang of metal hitting bone as the two disappeared into the distance. The remaining members chose to ignore the noise and instead, looked at each other questioningly, wondering who was next. After a long moment of silence and staring, France shoved England forward, not at all gently.

"What was that for, you bloody git?" the smaller nation shouted as he reeled on him.

"I was just volunteering you," France replied with sly smile.

"Why should I try that stupid thing?" the British man huffed. "It's ridiculous."

"You're not afraid, are you?"

"Of course not," England growled, annoyed at how the other man was manipulating him. He trudged towards the well reluctantly and took out a coin.

"Don't worry- I'm sure it accepts all forms of currency!" France jeered from behind him.

"Shut up," England snapped and tossed his coin into the well.

The voice came echoing up the stone walls once again.

**"You say you hate him, but honestly, you really care about his opinion and want to impress him."**

"O-oh?" France said loudly after an awkward silence hung in the air. "Could it be the well is talking about me?"

England gaped at him, wide-eyed, but shook his head in denial.

"Of course not! Don't get so full of yourself! The blasted thing was talking about someone else!"

"But there's no telling…It could have been talking about me, _non_?" the Frenchman said gleefully.

"Shut up! There are **other** people that can apply to, you know!" England insisted, face red.

It was hard for the others to tell if he was lying or not, but while the short blonde fumed, France smirked and calmly made his way to the well to take his turn next.

"Here I go," he said, as he flipped a coin in and waited. The well gave its answer just as it had for England.

**"There's only one person you want, but you chase after everyone because you know there's no way you can ever have him."**

France went pale, and he glanced at the others out of the corner of his eye nervously. England, whose face had never had the chance to recover and resume its normal color, had fire in his eyes to match the red spread across his features.

"It BETTER be talking about someone else," he growled.

"O-of course!" France stuttered, while backing away from the other man slowly. "There's no way I would fall for anyone as grouchy and unattractive as _you_."

"Why you-!"

No one blinked twice when England started chasing the other blonde around in a mad rage. Speaking of mad rages, Hungary had just come back from hers.

"Sorry about that," she said politely.

Prussia was nowhere in sight. Austria looked at her questioningly, but the woman made no excuses and gave no explanations. Instead she walked up to the fountain calmly and pulled out her own coin.

"May as well get this over with," she said as she flipped it in and waited nervously for the well's response. The well's voice was calm but straight-forward.

**"You really love him, but you're too afraid to ever tell him so to his face."**

Hungary gasped and stepped back, trying to hide her obvious embarrassment. She kept her eyes fixed on her feet and cleared her throat. The other nations stared at her for a moment until Austria finally approached her worriedly and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay, Hungary?" he asked and looked surprised when Hungary flinched under his touch.

"Y-yes, just fine," she replied, forcing a smile.

She wouldn't look at the man, though. Austria's own cheeks flushed, and he looked over Hungary's shoulder at the well. He approached it and took his turn hesitantly. The well seemed to wait a while before giving him a reply, as if it was trying to build the already unbearable suspense.

**"You're too proud to admit how much you love her to anyone - even yourself."**

"Ah-!" Austria gasped.

He stumbled away from Hungary, who had snapped out of her own withdrawal after hearing the well's words and was now staring at Austria with deep curiosity. The man tried to regain his composure, but was having a difficult time as he was more than conscious of the heat radiating from his face. Everyone was silent, throwing inconspicuous glances at the only two that remained.

"Well!" Spain chirped suddenly, startling everyone out of their stiffness. "I guess I'll go next!"

Romano groaned as he realized his former boss was the only one in the group too oblivious to sense the tension present in the atmosphere. The Spaniard carried on as if nothing were awkward at all and strode towards the well without so much as a pause.

"Let's see…" he said, reaching down into his pocket and fishing out his coin. "Ah! Here."

With one flip, the glinting piece of metal fell down into the depths of the well and landed with a tiny splash at the bottom. This time, the well's voice somehow seemed more menacing than before, with a hint of gloating, as if it had just discovered the juiciest secret and was only too happy to share it. Its knowing laugh should have been enough to alert the others that trouble was coming, but Spain just kept smiling.

"**Whenever you said you loved him," **it told him**, "you didn't really mean it. You were thinking of his brother. They were empty words." **

Spain stopped smiling. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he thought about what the well had said. Most of the others were gaping at him with the expression of those who had just overheard the telling of a horrible scandal. Then, all eyes fell on Romano.

The young Italian's cheeks were noticeably tinted, but he kept a straight face and only stared at Spain with an expression that was unreadable. Spain tried to smile at him, but Romano gave no reaction. Instead, he pretended not to care about the other man's truth and walked right past him silently, flipping a coin into the well and fulfilling his obligation as the last member of the small group. The well wasted no time responding to him. Its voice was noticeably gentler than it had been for any of the others.

"**You really did love him."**

The shocked silence of the other countries seemed quieter than it had been the whole afternoon, if that was at all possible. Romano kept his gaze fixed on the darkness of the well before him, his face obviously fighting the reactions his heart wanted to give. Spain, overcoming his usual denseness, suddenly understood that Romano's truth was referring to him. Half of his smile returned.

"Romano," he said softly, and reached out to touch the boy.

His hand was slapped away sharply.

"Get away from me, you bastard!" Romano shouted at him, angry tears escaping from his face despite his best efforts to keep them in. "You can go to hell!"

With that, he tore away from the group and bolted as far from them and that stupid well as he could. He didn't even look back. Spain cried out after him, his voice sounding deeply hurt as he was cut deep by Romano's words.

"Roma-!"

He chased after him immediately, leaving the other four staring after him in disbelief. They watched as the Country of Passion disappeared into the distance, his former charge long gone before him. It took them a while to recover and remember the tension that still existed between them.

"Well," Austria said, clearing his throat and trying, for the first time, to regain the calmness that had once been present among the group. "Shall we look for Prussia?"

**AFTER THE INCIDENT**

_I never caught up with him. _

Spain didn't protest as France fixed him another drink to refill his cup. He also failed to notice that sometime during his recollection, his belt had been unbuckled. He just sat at the counter of France's built-in bar and thought to himself. And thought. And thought. And thought.

"I GET IT!" he burst suddenly, scaring France and making him spill the drink he had been preparing all over his new white shirt. The Spaniard ignored his friend's curses. "Romano must have been confused about who the well was talking about! He thought the person that I lied to was him! But it wasn't. The truth is that every time I told _Veneziano_ I loved him, I was thinking of my Romanito. It's true! I always was!"

France just gave the other man an annoyed look as he cleaned himself off.

"And you just figured this out?"

"I have to explain it to him!" Spain said desperately. "I have to make him understand that he's the only one I love."

"Ah, the art of wooing," France sighed, regaining a bit of his good humor and stepping closer to Spain. His grin was one that meant trouble. "Allow me to show you how it's done, _Espagne_. First, you must take him into your arms." He demonstrated, of course, embracing Spain tightly while the other man only smiled back at him. "Then, look your love in the eyes and whisper gently that no one touches your heart the way he does. Tell him everything you love about him and what makes him incomparable to others. Ask him to forgive you and beg that you two shall never part again." He stroked Spain's cheek and reached up to push a lock of hair behind his ear. "And finally," he finished, "lean in close and kiss him with all the passion your country's famous for!"

With a well-practiced block, Spain put a hand up in front of France's face to stop his enthusiastic attempt to demonstrate this part of the lesson as well. He laughed nervously, pushing his friend away with gentle force.

"S-sorry, France, but those lips only belong to Romano," he told him. "And get your hand out of my pants!"

The Frenchman withdrew, sulking over the fact that he had been caught. Oh well. At least it had been worth a try…not to mention, good while it had lasted.

"You know what you have to do now," France said, suppressing a sigh. "Go win back your love."

"I will!" Spain replied brightly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "I'll show him what the well really meant! Thanks for listening to me, _Francia_. And sorry about your shirt."

"Don't worry about it," his friend replied. "Let me know how it goes, _oui_?"

"Of course!" the Spaniard said, making his way towards the door. "_Hasta luego_!"

And with that, he was gone, leaving France staring after him, their empty glasses sitting on his counter. A smirk drew itself upon the blonde's face as he sadly cleaned up the remains of their short get-together.

"Good luck, _mon ami,_" he said quietly to himself. "_Au revoir_…the one I can never have."

* * *

A/N: So here's another kink meme baby; however, unlike the others, it'll be multi-chap. LUCKY YOU. Updates may be slow because I want to take my time with this. It really is a great concept, and credit for the idea goes the anon who requested this. If you're curious about where the original Well of Uncomfortable Truths came from, I'll post the link to the comic strip on my profile.

THAT SAID, am I the only one who feels sorry for France in this chapter? XD; Unfortunately, this isn't going to be a very happy story for him, but he'll be back. Now I wonder who England's truth was referring to...hmm.

-K.I.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Niichan, have some pasta already."

Romano frowned at his brother who was smiling like the moron he always was and trying to shove a plate of food at his face. He pushed it away and turned his gaze from that stupid grin. Veneziano was the last person he wanted to see after **the incident**, but the nuisance had shown up at his door that night and just invited himself in. Before he had known it, there was dinner on the table and he was practically being force-fed.

"I said 'no thanks!'" he grumbled while his brother looked back at him, crestfallen.

"But, Niichan! You love my spaghetti! You always eat so much of it."

"Shut up!" the older Italian snapped. "I'm not hungry! Why don't you just go home?"

Veneziano put the plate down, looking hurt. Romano felt a tinge of guilt, but pushed it away in his annoyance. His brother had forced his way in here, after all. Just because he had gone through the trouble to cook for him didn't mean he had to eat the crap. He didn't want anything from him! Not even if it looked delicious…and smelled good…and his stomach was rumbling.

"I heard that!" his brother said accusingly, pointing at his belly.

Romano groaned. Even if the rest of him was defiant, his stomach would always be the traitor. He put a hand up to it, as if that would muffle the growling, but it just made him look hungrier. His brother was pushing that damn plate of temptation closer to him again.

"Why don't you eat? I know you waaant it," he teased.

"I-" Romano started, trying to find an excuse. He couldn't. His mouth was watering so much now, and it was just _sitting there_, waiting for him to... "Gah! Fine! I'll eat it, you asshole!"

He picked up his fork and started devouring the spaghetti. Damn, did it taste good. The Italian was reminded that he hadn't had the inclination to eat anything else during the course of his day of sulking. Veneziano seemed surprised at his brother's sudden gusto and was still confused about why he had initially refused the food when it was obvious he had been hungry for it.

"Niichan…are you okay?"

"I'mph fine, dammif!" the other said through a mouthful of noodles.

"Are you sure?" his brother asked. "You're acting strange. Did something happen?"

"No," Romano said, gulping his food down and pouring himself a glass of wine.

"Come on, tell me!"

"No."

"Are you sick?"

"No," he repeated again, talking a sizable sip.

"On a diet?"

Romano just glared with him, glass still to his lips.

"Oh…Then, it's Spain-niichan, isn't it?"

Romano spat out his wine in an impressive spray that reached across the table and splashed all over his brother's face. Veneziano still stared at him expectantly, alcohol dripping from his bangs and ahoge.

"Well? It is him, right?"

Romano coughed out the leftover wine in his throat as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and continued to glare at his brother. His reaction had given it away. There was no way Veneziano was going to believe him if he kept on denying it now.

"S-so what if it is?"

"Aww, Niichan! What happened? Have you started talking to him again?"

"What do you care?" Romano replied angrily, growing more and more annoyed. "I don't want to talk about it with you!"

"But, Niiichan," Veneziano whined, "we're brothers, aren't we? Who else are you going to talk to when you've got a problem?"

"I don't want to talk to _anyone_!"

"Oh…"

Veneziano went quiet after his last disappointed breath. Damn it, there was that guilt again! Romano hated this! He wanted nothing more than to just be left alone. Let his brother stick his nose in someone else's business! Couldn't he see that he was the reason all this bullshit had started in the first place?

Romano was doing his best to hide his resentment towards his brother, but it wasn't easy when the younger Italian was being so irritating. He looked up when he heard Veneziano slide his chair out and growled when his brother started walking around the table towards him.

"W-what are you doing? Hey-!" he protested as the other Italian wrapped his arms around him in surprisingly strong embrace.

"Niichan…"

"Let go of me, dammit!" Romano told him as he struggled to get out of his brother's hold and away from the wine that was rubbing off on him.

"Niichan, I'm sorry."

Romano stopped fighting. An apology?

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you," he continued. "I know you've been hurting since you and Spain-niichan broke up, but I've barely come around here at all to try to cheer you up."

He loosened his grip and Romano shoved him away with slightly less force than he would have used otherwise.

"I-I don't need anyone to cheer me up," he told him. "I'm fine."

"But you're still hurting, aren't you? Don't you miss him? Niichan, you never told me why you two broke up."

Romano flinched.

"It's none of your business," Romano muttered. What was he supposed to say? "_We broke up because he liked you better than me"? Fuck, he still does. He always has. _Even that stupid well had said so- pointed it out in front of everybody. It wasn't like Romano didn't know it already. They wouldn't have broken up if he hadn't believed it from the start. Romano could still feel the shame coming back to him as his face flushed red. He had humiliated himself. Even Spain's truth hadn't hurt as bad as having his own feelings laid bare for everyone to see. **You really did love him. **

_Shit… _Before that, denying it had been his only consolation.

"Niichan…"

"Shut up! You're so damn annoying!" Romano yelled, choking on his words a bit. At least Veneziano hadn't been at the well. It was a fact that he was suddenly grateful for. How could he have dealt with having his brother hear it for himself? He had taken Spain from him without even knowing it, the bastard.

"I want to make you feel better!"

"There's nothing you can do, dammit! Just leave me alone."

With that, he rose up and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving his brother trailing after him.

"Please! Let me help you!" Veneziano whined.

Romano ignored him, heading for the stairs. He heard footsteps thumping behind him and felt a hand suddenly grab his own as he began to climb. He turned to glare at the worried face that pouted up at him.

"What the fuck do you care?" he growled. "I don't have to be happy all the time, you know! Just give me a few days, and I'll be over this and that damn bastard! I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me. Now GO HOME."

"Wait!"

Romano tried to pull away from Veneziano, but was surprised when his brother leaned back with his full force, using his body weight to pull the other man down. Unfortunately, Romano had already taken one foot up towards the next step and was completely thrown off balance. He tumbled off the stairs with Veneziano and landed on top of his brother with a loud THUMP.

As the two lay on the floor with matching groans and Romano's mutterings of "dumbass," there was a sudden knock at the door that made both of them jump. The knob twisted and creaked open slowly as a shaggy head of brown hair poked in.

"Oy, Romano!" Spain called into the house. "The door was open, so I just- Oh."

He saw the two Italy brothers sprawled on the floor, Romano digging his hand into Veneziano's face as he scrambled to his feet.

"Bastard! What are you doing here?" he demanded, fuming as he leered at his unwanted visitor.

"Niichan!" Italy whined under him. "You're standing on my-"

"Shut up!"

"But my-"

"Quiet!"

"It huuurts!"

Romano stepped off of whatever part of his brother he was crushing, just to silence him. Spain was looking down at Italy with pity in his eyes. In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers.

"Romano, I came to say I'm sorry."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear any of your damned apologies!"

"But please! You have to give me a chance to explain! The one the well was talking about was-"

"I said, 'SHUT UP!'" Romano yelled, unable to take it anymore. The _last _thing he wanted was for Spain to fill his brother in on everything that had happened. He wanted them both out of his house **now.**

"But you have to listen to me!" Spain insisted, closing in on Romano. The other man backed away from him and felt his heel come down on Veneziano's fingers with a crunch as his brother shrieked from beneath him.

"I don't have to do anything for you! Get lost, asshole! And take your stupid flowers with you!"

He stepped off his whimpering brother's hand and bolted up the stairs. Spain ran after him, stopping right next to Italy.

"Wait, Romano!"

The Italian didn't even turn around. Italy rose shakily to his feet, calling up after his brother.

"Niichan! Don't just leave Spain-niichan down here!"

Romano ignored him and had almost made it to the top of the staircase, when he heard a whine of sympathy from his former caretaker.

"Aww! Ita-chan, are you okay?"

Romano glared down to see Spain stroking the side of his brother's head softly, where a bump had formed. The Spaniard's eyes were full of concern as Veneziano flinched under his touch.

"I'm fine, Spain-niichan! Really! Romano-"

"Are you sure? You're hurt!"

"But Romano-! You have to-"

"I'll leave you two alone now!" the angry Italian yelled down at them. "And if either of you set one foot on those stairs, I'll throw you back down them!" With that, he burst into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Spain stared up at where his ex-lover had been standing, heartbroken.

"Romano…"

Italy frowned up at the top of the stairs, his eyes glittering with tears.

"There's something wrong with him, Spain-niichan! I had to force him to eat his pasta!"

The Spaniard gaped in response, but recovered quickly, looking around him in a panic.

"He must be really ill! Should we call a doctor?"

"I don't think that'll help," the Italian said sadly. "It`s not something a doctor can fix…He misses you."

"Ita-chan…"

"He's bad at showing it, but he really loves you, Spain-niichan! And whatever happened between you's been hurting him a lot. He's not himself!"

Spain hung his head with a depressed frown. He sat down on Romano's stairs and rested his chin on the palms of his hands, dropping the flowers down beside his feet.

"This is all my fault…I haven't been considering his feelings. I've never been good at telling what he wants, even when he was small. You'd think I would have learned by now, huh? He must really hate me. How am I ever going to get him to listen to me?"

He bent his head down further and clutched his hair, frustrated.

"Niichan doesn't hate you," Italy told him, sitting down next to the Spaniard and putting a hand on his shoulder. "He's just upset."

"Because of what _I _did. I hurt him, and now he's shutting me out again," Spain said, looking up at him miserably.

"What happened?" Italy asked him. "I don't get why he's like this now when you two broke up weeks ago."

The other man hesitated.

"S-something someone said must have got to him," Spain replied. Even he had the common sense to know that Romano wouldn't have wanted it repeated, especially to the one person who was unknowingly involved. Also, he still felt ashamed of himself and the way he had acted after their breakup, chasing after an oblivious Italy in an attempt to fill the hole in his heart. _You never knew I wanted to be anything other than your friend…and it's true. I can't love you the way I love him. Friends is all we were ever meant to be. _

"I love him," the Spaniard said softly. "I need to show him somehow. I have to make him believe me again."

"You will!" Italy assured him cheerfully. "I know you can, Spain-niichan."

"But how? Romano won't even let me come near him…"

The Italian smiled.

"I have an idea."

* * *

A/N:Oh, Italy brothers...You can tell Romano took over this section by the amount of Veneziano abuse. This was fun, but what I'm really looking forward to is the part that's coming up next, where you get to see how Romano feels about the whole situation when no one's watching. Prepare to set sail on the Tsuntsun Express! Pfft...*goes back to being a dork*


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Romano sat on his bed in the dark, clutching his legs close to him and burying his head in his knees. How dare that bastard come here? He didn't want to see his stupid face ever again! After all he had done to him, he still had the nerve to show up and simply apologize, as if that would fix everything. And that Spanish bastard had almost blurted out the well's truth in front of his brother! They were probably sitting down there right now, talking about it. Romano felt his face burn red with shame and embarrassment. Would Spain really tell him? If he did, Veneziano would know that this whole "apology" was a joke and that he was really the one Spain's thoughts had been occupied with this whole time. _I've lost to him again. It's always been that way. _

He felt like a child again, vying for attention. Even back then, Roma-jiichan had only paid attention to Veneziano. The cute one. The artistic one. The one that would let him cuddle and fuss over him without getting embarrassed or pushing away. Never mind that Romano had been named after him. There was nothing else about him that was special. He was always outshone or outdone in anything he didn't fail at completely. _"I can't do anything," _was what he had eventually led himself to believe. His grandfather had treated him like he hadn't existed and sometimes Romano had wondered if he even remembered Veneziano had a brother - or if, to him, "Italy" had just meant one person.

It had gone on like that for so long…Then Roma-jiichan had disappeared and Austria had conquered them. Romano had just been an extra spoil of war, something Austria hadn't even bothered to keep. Instead, he had given him away to Spain, and for once, _for once_, Romano had been glad…if only to get away from Veneziano and start feeling like his own person, not part of his little brother's shadow. How pathetic was that? He was the older one, damn it! And he had never felt that his younger brother looked up to him or even respected him all that much. He was just one more person to be stepped on, and stronger countries had always pushed them around as long as either of them could remember. Though Spain had been…different from the rest.

At first, Romano had hated the man- that goofball with his silly smiles and his cheery voice and his smothering affection…His high expectations. No one had ever asked Romano for much. The young Italian had become pretty laid back from his lack of responsibility, and even when Spain had asked him to do the simplest of chores, Romano could honestly respond, "I don't know how." Of course his own personal laziness and defiant nature had played into it, though he preferred to hide behind more convenient excuses. But Spain had wanted a lot out of him. And despite Romano's initial reluctance, he was surprised to find that, at times, he had actually felt like making an effort to give it to him.

"_Why should I care if that bastard is happy?" _he had asked himself sometimes. All the Spaniard ever did was boss him around- clean this, wash that, take out the garbage, do the laundry, pick some tomatoes…Romano had never wanted to give in to him at first. He had formed a list of automatic responses- _"I don't feel like it!" "Not now!" "I'll do it later!" "I'm busy!" "I can't…""Don't know how." _But Spain had always kept asking. He had never given up on the hope that Romano might serve him better someday, though the boy had never understood why. What made even less sense is why he continued to protect his charge when anyone would have told him Romano was useless. He remembered the conversation Spain had had with his boss after rescuing him from Turkey. She had been so upset with him for starting a war that they barely had the means to fight in.

"_Why didn't you just hand him over? He could have finally been of some use! Did you think of what Turkey guy might have paid? While we're in debt…"_

"_But I couldn't! Romano is my special-!"_

Despite the harsh lectures he received, Spain would never stop defending him, no matter what anyone said. Romano remembered trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone actually wanted him. That he was important to his Boss, worth something to him. "Special."

After that, he had found it a lot harder to hate Spain, though he still put up a tough front. Aggression had always been his natural defense, and there was no kicking that habit. But Spain had seen a softer side to him already, and once in a while, when Romano let his guard down, he'd experience it again. Trust was hard-earned, but not impossible between them. During all those years, Spain had never stopped trying to get closer to him, and though their relationship was hard for some countries to understand, those that knew them best saw a bond built on the Spainard's unconditional love and the Italian's unyielding stubbornness. Romano's reluctance to disarm himself had turned into determination to hold onto the only person that truly loved and accepted him.

But it hadn't lasted.

Romano sniffed and cursed as the tears he had been fighting back all night finally escaped down his cheeks. At least no one could see him like this. Since the break-up, he had done his best to suppress his pain. It had been his choice, after all. It was better to be away from Spain than to be with him and watch him dote on his brother instead. But it still hurt…and all that bottled up emotion was coming close to overwhelming him. What he hated the most was that he still cared about the bastard. He still wanted to be near him, and he hated himself for that unwavering desire and the control it had over him. _Let him have Veneziano! Since he likes his company so much better anyways._ _Bastard, bastard, bastard…You promised._

**One Month Ago**

"I told you I didn't want him coming around here so much!"

Romano stood in the kitchen with his arms crossed, glaring at the man who was smiling as if nothing was wrong. That jerk…Couldn't he take this seriously for once?

"Come on, Romano! He's your brother!" Spain replied as he finished cutting up fresh tomatoes for the salad he was preparing.

"That doesn't mean I have to see him every time he decides to invite himself over! I thought you said it was just going to be the two of us tonight."

"Yes, but then Germany got called away and Ita-chan asked if he could come for dinner. You don't want your brother to be sad and lonely, do you?"

"I don't care about Veneziano's fucking dependency issues! You never have time just for me anymore!"

Spain stopped slicing vegetables and looked at him.

"That's not true, Romano…We spend plenty of time together."

"When's the last time we went on a date?"

Spain opened his mouth.

"-without the third wheel."

Spain closed it again. Romano glared at him, feeling silly for arguing about this and getting upset over it as if he were some bitchy girlfriend. But it was something that had been bothering him for a long time, to the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Romano. How about we go out later this week?"

"What, so now I have to wait for a fucking appointment? Just call Veneziano and tell him we've got plans!"

"I can't do that! I already told him he could come."

"Then _un_-tell him."

"But I already started making the salad-!"

Spain was cut short by Romano smacking a cucumber right out of his hand. The Italian leaned over the counter, glaring at him fiercely.

"Forget the damn salad! Just admit that you like spending time with him more than with me!"

"R-romano!"

The Italian could feel his face hot with embarrassment and his voice was raw with anger as he confronted his lover. Spain looked too shocked and helpless to form a coherent response.

"I- um. You see- It's…It's not true!" he sputtered.

"Liar!" Romano yelled at him. "I'm so sick of this bullshit! I'm not just someone that's here to entertain you while you wait around for _him_!"

"Wha-? How could you- Romano! Wait!"

But the younger country was already marching off in his fury, determined to get as far away from that Spanish bastard as possible. He ran out to his car and slammed the door before the other man could stop him. Then, he drove away without a clue as to where he was headed.

He had ended up back at his own house, which was still pretty full of stuff since he hadn't had much time to move in with Spain yet. They had only been living together for a few weeks. _Am I going to have to bring it all back? _He tried to sleep, but he couldn't. He just kept thinking about that man and how he and Italy were probably enjoying their dinner without him. Jealousy and resentment stirred within him relentlessly as he lay there, hoping sleep would put an end to it. His eyelids were finally being weighed down by drowsiness when he heard a knock at the door.

He groaned and ignored the knocking until whoever was at the door got so insistent that he finally swore and dragged himself out of bed.

"I'm coming, dammit!" he bellowed as he approached the door.

He pulled it open with some caution but was still unprepared for what came bounding into his house.

"There you are, Niichan!" his brother chirped, giving him a very unwanted hug. "Spain-niichan was worried about you, so I told him I'd help him look for you! Of course, I figured this was the first place to try."

It was solely thanks to his sleepiness that he didn't pummel Veneziano down into the hard marble floor right there and then. Romano frowned and clenched his teeth, pushing his brother away from him as the other Italian attempted to drag him towards the door.

"Come on, Niichan! Spain-niichan's waiting for you!"

Romano mustered up enough strength to escape his clutches and deal his brother a good blow to the head.

"You think I'm going to come with you just because he sent you to haul me back? You can tell 'Spain-niichan' that if he wants me to come back, he'll have to come get me him-!"

"Romano!"

The Italian flinched. He could see a shadow creeping up behind Veneziano now, coming from the direction of the driveway. So the bastard _had _shown up.

"Romano, please! Come home with me! I'm really sorry about earlier. I'll make it up to you, I promise! We can go on as many dates as you want, just please…don't make me go back alone."

_Why don't you just go back home with Veneziano, you jackass?_, Romano thought. He wouldn't dare say it, though - not when his brother was standing _right there. _Spain's face looked hopeful and -Romano had to admit- very sorry. Maybe he was too tired to tell if it was sincere or not, but the asshole _had_ come all the way out here to get him…That had to count for something, right? Romano just wished he hadn't brought Veneziano with him.

Somehow, against his better judgment, he had agreed to go back home with Spain. It had been a horrible mistake. Romano knew it even as Spain ran his hand lovingly up and down Romano's leg while they rode in the car and his brother echoed the Italian song playing on the radio from the back seat. _You better keep your promises this time, you bastard…_

Dropping Veneziano off at his house had taken extra time out of their already long night, but it was better than having the leech follow them home. Romano wondered whether or not the two had had their dinner together before going out to look for him.

Spain hummed and sang in Spanish for the rest of the drive home despite his passenger's groaning. Romano would never admit how much he liked the man's voice. It was soothing, and though the Italian didn't understand most of the words…kind of sexy. Regardless, it resulted in Spain barely talking to him for the rest of the trip except maybe to mumble a few silly endearments Romano wasn't even sure he believed anymore.

What had really gotten him, though had been their first night back at Spain's house together. After their long trip, the two had settled into bed, finally falling asleep after a brief round of love-making that Romano had only felt half involved in. His heart was still full of doubt after their last fight. Did Spain really want him? He wondered who his lover was really thinking of when he ran his hands up and down his body, when he kissed his mouth so passionately, when he moved deep inside of him, when he said_…"Te amo." _

"_Te amo." _

He was saying it now as he cuddled Romano against his chest, breathing into his hair, half asleep. The Italian closed his eyes, taking in his scent, trying to feel as close to the Spaniard as he once had. Spain rubbed his back and slipped further into the depths of his slumber. Romano had almost followed him into Dream World when he heard his lover mutter something that would have been too soft to hear had his ear not been so close to the Spaniard's mouth.

"Ita-chan…"

Romano froze. His body went tense all over as Spain's embrace slackened around him. His mind was still trying to comprehend what the other man had uttered. It hadn't been his name- not the name of the person his lover was holding in his arms at the moment. It had been his brother's. Veneziano. Romano felt the tears sliding down his face before he even knew he was crying.

He held his breath and slipped out of Spain's arms as quietly as he could while the other started up a round of sound snoring. Romano crept out of bed and dressed himself in the dark. He made his way towards the door shakily, stopping to grab a small box of his still-unpacked belongings before turning around to take one last look at his lover whose arms were still sprawled out as if they were holding something. There was a sharp pain in the Italian's chest as he felt himself separated from Spain by more than just those few feet between them. Every good feeling and fond memory the Spaniard had ever given him seemed fake now. Despite how badly the Italian had been treated his whole life, he could never remember a time he had felt more used…or had felt so broken. How had he let this happen? It would have been so much better if he had never let Spain pretend to love him. _I thought I was special_, Romano thought as he watched him sleep through reddened eyes. _I thought you wanted me. You were the first one that made me feel like I was…worth something. _

Before he had even spent a whole day there, he left Spain's house once again. But this time, he wouldn't be coming back.

**The Present**

Romano curled up in a ball on the bed, hoping that sleep would put an end to the memories that he couldn't get off his mind. It wasn't that late yet, but the night had exhausted him already. He just wanted to go to sleep so that he could wake up to find the house empty - as it should be.

Sleep wasn't a reasonable possibility anytime soon, though. The Italian kept listening for voices or sounds coming from downstairs, but he heard none. They must have gone off somewhere together. He could imagine them, laughing, Spain wrapping his arms around Veneziano, getting close, kissing him…_Argh! _Romano buried his face in the pillow. It was just so frustrating! Why couldn't he just get over it? He didn't need that bastard! Didn't want him! Not after what he had done. And yet, he couldn't help how he felt. _I hate you so much…I hate you for making me still love you. _

Just as Romano started to groan loudly in his frustration, he heard something outside. Falling silent, he could hear a strumming sound coming in through the open window. The Italian turned his head towards it curiously. _What is that? _It sounded so familiar. He rose from the bed and made his way towards it cautiously. At first, the music was soft, but when he poked his head outside to find the source, the volume increased suddenly and a cheerful voice soon accompanied it with much enthusiasm.

_"Esta noche linda,  
Vengo a cantarte a ti,  
Por favor escucha me,  
Lo que tengo que decir,  
Nadie en el mundo,  
Me hace sentir asi,  
Y mi corazon se rompe,  
Si no quieres escucharlo!  
Cuanto te quiero~! Romano!  
Solo tu me haces sentir  
Esta felicidad imcomparable!  
Es tan grande mi amor y  
Solo te amo a ti y a nadie mas!  
Creeme para dar me paz!  
Si nunca me vuelves a hablar,  
Me quedare sentado aqui,  
Por eternida-!" _

SPLAT! The Spaniard's song was cut short by a tomato hitting him square in the face. Its red skin erupted and splattered its mushy contents onto Spain's nose, running down his chin in a river of flesh and seeds. Spain licked the juice from his lips and continued strumming.

"SHUT UP, you bastard!" Romano screeched from the window. "You're fuckin' embarrassing me!"

"Romano!" Spain cried pitifully. "How could you-?"

SPLAT! Another explosion cut him off again. Where was he getting these tomatoes? He had a basket of them up there, Spain knew it.

"Please-!"

SPLAT! The next one hit him in the eye.

"Hey!" the Spaniard protested. "Stop wasting food!"

"Then get OFF my property, dammit!" Romano yelled back at him.

"But you have to listen to me!"

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! The guitar was taking a beating now. Spain shielded it with his body and got stained clothes as a result. The plummeting storm of fruit went on until Romano finally ran out of ammo and patience. He slammed the window shut and drew the curtains, finished with the Spaniard for the night. There was no getting through to him now.

Spain lay on the grass among the squashed red fruits and the roses he had scattered around him from the bouquet, utterly defeated. He grasped onto his red-soaked guitar and covered his face with his other hand miserably. Italy came running from behind a bush and hovered over the Spaniard, worried.

"Spain-niichan! What happened to you? Didn't the serenading work?"

The man said nothing, but Veneziano thought he heard him cry a little. That certainly hadn't gone as planned. Next time, the Spaniard decided, he'd sing a song in a language Romano actually understood.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh, Romano angst...I wanted to show the break-up from his point of view, so this is what came out. I really enjoyed writing Spain's song too, even though it came out pretty corny with my limited Spanish. Hope you liked it! Hopefully I can make up for writing Spain as such an idiot in the next chapter. XD; Sorry this one took so long. I had hoped to put it out sooner, but my schedule's gotten busy again so updates are still expected to be slow. Please do let me know what you think, though. Feedback really does encourage me to work faster, and I guarentee the next part will come out sooner if you do~ :)

**Translation for Spain's Song**

_"This lovely night,_  
_I've come to sing to you,_  
_Please listen to me,_  
_And what I have to say,_  
_No one in the world,_  
_Makes me feel like this,_  
_And my heart will break,_  
_If you don't want to hear it,_  
_How much I love you~! Romano!_  
_Only you make me feel,_  
_This uncomparable joy,_  
_My love is so great and,_  
_I only love you and no one else!_  
_Believe me to give me peace!_  
_If you never speak to me again,_  
_I'd stay sitting here,_  
_For eterni-!"_ *cue tomato*

"Te amo" of course means..."I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Spain creaked open the door to his house and slunk in dejectedly. Ever since Romano had left him, he never looked forward to coming home. The place was just far too empty and dull without his adorable Italian lover to welcome him, demand what had taken him so long, declare what they would be having for dinner, no matter who was cooking that night...and then let Spain kiss him senseless to bring quiet bliss back to the house they shared. Now it was Spain's house again. Just Spain's. Large and majestic, and silent - Spain would still smile fondly sometimes remembering how Romano used to get lost in it when he was tiny. It seemed so long ago that he had been that small and cute, the first time the two had ever lived together under one roof.

The Spaniard sighed. He had left a trail of red smears from his door. It was all tomato juice; his clothes had been stained so bad, and the rest of him was still covered in it after the onslaught of fruit that had interrupted his serenading. _I tried so hard too…_He had been proud of the song Romano hadn't been able to understand, but now the whole idea was revealing itself to be more and more foolish. _What was I thinking? I can't really expect him to forgive me that easily. _It had been Italy's idea, but Spain had been so sure it would at least get Romano's attention instead of causing him to shut the other man out again. Spain had stayed out on his ex-lover's lawn long after Romano had closed the window on him. It was only by Veneziano's insistent coaxing that he had been convinced to return home and rest, to collect himself and prepare to try again another day.

_But what else can I do?_ Spain wondered as he stared back at the mess he'd have to clean up while he removed his squishy boots. _Romano won't listen to me. There's no way for me to get through to him or even close. I need to think of a new plan._

He went to go get a cloth to clean up the tomato juice. When he came back and looked down at the red smears, however, he froze. A strange feeling of _déjà vu _came over him suddenly.

/

He was looking at red drops on the floor much darker in color and not as thin. His whole body ached with multiple battle wounds that continued to leak the blood he had trailed into his house. He leaned wearily against his battle-ax as small, yet loud, footsteps clicked in his direction. A much smaller Romano scurried out from the hallway and looked up at him, an angry pout on his face.

"Took you long enough, bastard! While you were gone, your stupid bull trampled all over my tomatoes! Then, we got in a fight and I-"

The boy was stopped by the sight of his guardian. His mouth hung open with his unfinished sentence, and he stared at the man with confusion and concern. Spain placed a shaky hand on top of his head and smiled back down at him.

"I'm sorry, Romano," he said softly, trying to get his breath back. "I'm home now. We'll get you some new tomatoes. Just gotta rest for a bit-"

He stumbled forward, and Romano backed away, wide-eyed. Looking Spain up and down, the boy could see just how bad of a state his Boss was in, and his troubled gaze fell on the drops of blood the Spaniard had left behind him.

"W-what happened to you?" the little Italian gasped.

Spain just chuckled. There was always one reliable answer for why nations ended up like this- torn and beaten until they almost couldn't stand on their own, forced to fight to get what they wanted or to defend what they had. In this case, that thing had been Romano. His superior had already lectured him enough about how these battles were becoming far too expensive and how his own nation would be in trouble if the fighting didn't cease. But there was no way he could give up someone so important to him. For him, there was no price too high to pay for Romano's safety. Even after it had gone far beyond money…He didn't want his protectorate to feel bad or blame himself for the cost of keeping him safe, though, so for now, one word would suffice.

"War."

He used his weapon as a crutch and started to make his way to the sitting room where a welcoming couch awaited him.

"Please, Romano," he said, turning his head towards his charge, "would you mind cleaning up the floor? I don't think I'll be able to do it myself until I've-"

"Just go rest, dammit!"

Spain was surprised at the suddenness of the Italian's outburst. He tried to look at Romano's face, but the smaller nation had it turned away from him. Whatever expression he was wearing was one he didn't want Spain to see.

"G-go lay down on the couch," he told him. "Don't worry about anything else, bastard."

Spain stared at him for a moment longer before smiling weakly and nodding. Slowly and painfully, he reached the couch at last and shed most of his blood-stained garments, leaving them in a pile on the floor as he collapsed onto the comforting softness of the furniture and closed his eyes. His exhaustion brought sleep quickly, and all he could remember as he faded in and out of consciousness was someone picking up his bloody clothes, someone mopping up the floor around him, someone carefully dressing his wounds with small, clumsy hands…a sniveling voice.

"_Dammit, bastard…Be more careful."_

/

_Aye, Romano. _It was such a sweet memory despite the pain it brought back. Spain smiled even as he wiped up the tomato juice and finally dragged himself to bed. It had been a disappointing night, but he couldn't give up now. There had to be a way to get Romano to believe him. _First_, he just had to get him to listen. But the Italian seemed very determined to do exactly the opposite, and Spain had no idea how he was going to succeed in getting his attention and keeping it.

Spain was still frustrated by the fact that he didn't understand his ex-ward after all this time. Their break-up had seemed so sudden and confusing to him, but he hadn't doubted it had been his own fault that Romano had left him, even if he didn't understand exactly why. The Spaniard wasn't totally unaware of his own obliviousness. He remembered their fights about Italy and the big one that had driven Romano home. What he didn't understand, though, was why the Italian had changed his mind after coming back with him that night. He thought they had made up, that Romano had given him another chance, but when he had woken up that morning, his bed had been heartbreakingly empty. He had searched the house for his lover, but had only found a note on the table. Its message was simple and clear- _"I won't be your second choice."_

_You never were, _Spain thought sadly._ I always wanted you, Roma. _If only there had been a way to fix things before they had blown out of proportion. His thoughts went back to his tomato-stained clothes and the red drops on the floor. Romano had always been so worried about him when he had come home from a battle heavily beaten or had been lying sick in bed. Maybe there was still a part of him that was concerned about Spain's well-being? _Not that I expect him to fuss over me like he used to_, Spain thought hopelessly. _But at least he wouldn't ignore me…right? _He didn't have to be injured, he decided. Just putting himself in peril might be enough to stir something within his ex-lover, to make him remember why he cared and let Spain make his own feelings clear. But how to do it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bellow outside his window. Out on the pasture, Spain's bull was demanding attention. He knew his master was home and was complaining about being ignored, as he had often been lately. The Spaniard mustered up the strength to rise and went over to his window. Looking out, he could see the black animal silhouetted in the moonlight staring up at him expectantly.

"_Perdoname_, _Torito_," he apologized. "I've been neglecting you, haven't I?"

The bull just snorted and pawed the grass with one hoof. Spain smiled at him, remembering with amusement the rivalry young Romano and hispet used to share. Even though the bull had aided him in saving Romano from Turkey, the Italian had never forgotten about being thrown into the air by the beast plowing into the cart that had contained him. After that, Romano would often tease the bull, much to Spain's anxiety. He had often saved the little Italian from his pet when things had gotten out of hand, and even though the animal could be fierce at times, at least he would always listen to his master.

"At least you appreciate my music, huh?" Spain said, picking up his sticky guitar and giving it a strum.

Outside, the bull paced before the fence, pleased. His hoofs pounded against the grass, and watching him, Spain felt another idea coming into his head. The black shadow continued to dance as his master played the instrument tiredly, smile spreading slowly as Spain closed his eyes and continued to plot.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the shortness. I bet it's not too hard to guess what'll happen next...*cue another bad idea* I'm excited!

Torito=little bull  
I know. Original. :P I'm working with the idea that animal companions are as immortal as their masters. XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I can't believe I let you bring me here."

Romano was frowning as he sat with his arms crossed, glaring at the one sitting beside him and glaring even fiercer at the person sitting next to _him. _

"Come on, Niichan!" Veneziano chirped, patting his brother on the back. "Isn't it exciting? Everyone's already getting so worked up!"

"_Ja_," a deeper voice said from beside the younger Italian. "It's not every day you get to see a country performing his 'national sport.'"

"Still don't see why you had to come, potato-bastard," Romano growled, shoving a hyper Veneziano away.

"I got dragged here the same way you did," Germany replied, pointing at the one who was now on his feet and leaning over the edge of the stands, looking around at the bullfighting ring before them.

"_Ve~ _Spain-niichan said to bring someone along, and you didn't want to go, so I asked Germany!" he told his brother over his shoulder. "It's great that we all ended up coming together!"

_Like hell I'd let him replace me, _Romano thought. He started grumbling quietly to himself as his brother stared in every direction, eyes wide.

"It's so big!" Veneziano marveled. "I've never seen Spain-niichan do something like this before! I'm sure you have, though, right, Niichan?"

"A long time ago," Romano muttered.

He didn't care for the sport, if that's what it was. It wasn't exactly a contest- more like a ritualized killing. The bull almost always died, and all the blood involved was more than the Italian could stand to stomach for the most part. He never thought he'd find himself back here again, but once he had learned the German was tagging along, the thought of that potato-bastard alone with his brother had infuriated him enough to win over his reluctance to see his ex.

"I don't know why you're so excited," he told Veneziano. "You're not going to like it."

The younger Italian cocked his head at him curiously.

"Why?"

"It gets really bloody," Romano replied, his sadistic side enjoying the sudden alarm that spread over his brother's face at the hint of gore. "And the bull dies slowly. _Painfully._"

"B-but, Spain-niichan wouldn't do such a thing!"

Romano shrugged.

"He did once. But the tomato-bastard's changed a lot since then. I didn't think he was doing it anymore. They banned bullfighting in Barcelona and a lot of his citizens don't agree with it now."

He didn't realize how strange it was until he'd said it aloud. Why would Spain be doing this all of a sudden? Romano was so sure he had lost his taste for it. The ring was packed with people eager to see their nation finally don the outfit of a matador again. It had been so long…

The Italian stared at the entrance to the ring, waiting for the parade of matadors, lancers, and flagmen to come out. Instead, just one man entered, dressed in his dark purple and gold suit of lights and waving at the enthusiastic crowd as he walked toward the center of the ring. Romano looked at him in confusion. Where was his whole freakin' entourage? Did the guy want to steal the show all for himself?

Spain's eyes locked with Romano's and he smiled. The Italian felt his face grow hot, and he turned away, annoyed. Why'd they have to be in the front row? Someone might notice Spain staring at him…His brother, on the other hand, was eagerly calling for Spain's attention, leaning further over the barrier in front of his seat and waving wildly at the man.

"SPAIN-NIICHAN! SPAIN-NIICHAN! OVER HERE!"

Romano wanted to strangle him. Germany just sat there, rubbing his temples as if the younger Italian was giving him a headache. Spain nodded to them in acknowledgement and bowed to the rest of the crowd. He twirled his bright red cape before him, and just then, Romano realized that something else was wrong. He was so sure that the starting cape for the first stage was supposed to be gold and magenta, not red.

"What's going on?" he mumbled to himself.

The crowd was murmuring too, so he knew it wasn't just him. No one openly doubted their country though. Whatever rules he was going to play by was what they were going to get. Spain turned back towards the entrance the bull would come through and waited. As soon as the door was open, a bulky black figure finally charged in. It was smaller than Romano had expected and hardly as fierce. It trotted around the ring and then up to Spain, who was mouthing something to it no one could hear. _Taunting, _Romano guessed. But why wasn't the bull going crazy yet? Maybe it was just confused…

It didn't take long for the situation to start looking more familiar, though. The moment Spain started waving his cape, the bull's attitude changed, and it charged at the man full-force. Spain stepped out of the way swiftly as the beast ran past him, and he twirled on the sole of his foot, waiting for the next pass. This continued again and again, with the crowd shouting "OLE!" every time their nation bravely evaded those sharp horns and danced so close to the bull. Veneziano was the most ecstatic of them all.

"YAAAY! GO, SPAIN-NIICHAN! YEAH! AMAZING! WOOOHOOO! WAAA-gah!"

The Italian choked as his brother stood up and yanked him back roughly by the shirt collar. Romano pulled him down onto the gray cement seat with a thud. Veneziano started whining as his rear hit its hard surface.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Then _shut up!_"

"But Niichan! I was just cheering for him! Everyone else is doing it too!"

"No one's doing it as fucking loud as you are!"

"But I can't help it! I'm just so excited! Aren't you?"

Romano glared and shifted his gaze back towards the ring. There was something bubbling inside him, but it wasn't excitement. It was something closer to anxiety as he watched the creature charge at his ex-lover, hoofs pounding, pelt gleaming. One good hit with those horns and…but wait. He couldn't be worried about that bastard, dammit! Surely Spain would be fine. He'd done this before, after all. Never mind that it had been so long…

"No," Romano answered his brother, looking unimpressed. "The dumbass isn't doing anything except twirling around."

"Those are some graceful movements," Germany commented. "All while standing so close to an untamed animal. It must be difficult to perform like that while being in the midst of so much danger. He could very easily get himself badly hurt."

The older Italian just gritted his teeth at him with a "Who asked you?" expression and turned his attention back to the matador, flinching suddenly. The bastard was _smiling _at him. Romano felt his face grow hot as Spain kept his gaze fixed on him as he stepped out of the bull's way, its horns barely skimming past his arm. The Italian felt his skin crawl and his stomach clench. He was starting to feel a bit sick with nervousness. _Idiot…keep your mind focused. _

Spain winked at him and kept dodging. The crowd was growing less enthusiastic now as their initial excitement died down, but many were still shouting loudly, thoroughly enjoying Spain's performance. The Spaniard started to get worried that he would soon lose their interest, though, as the act grew repetitive. Even Romano was starting to look bored. He could see him squirming in his seat as he screwed up his face with uneasy restlessness. Either that or he just had gas, Spain thought.

His Torito looked like he was getting a bit tired too as Spain continued to command him quietly. _I have to do something to make this more exciting_. Thinking quickly, Spain pulled out a piece of cloth he had prepared for just such a purpose. He would never have dared to pull this stunt if it had been with any other bull, but he knew Torito would never hurt him, so Spain felt safe. After the next pass, he hurriedly tucked the cape between his legs and tied the cloth around his eyes.

"W-what the fuck is he _doing_?" Romano gasped.

"Gah! Spain-niichan, that's DANGEROUS!" Veneziano cried.

"The man's gone crazy," Germany muttered. "_How_ does he expect to fight a bull blindfolded?"

The three weren't the only ones shocked by the nation's course of action. There was worried and excited mumbling all around the stands. Children were standing on their seats and adults were leaning up against the barrier, trying to get a better look. Romano could feel his heart beating faster in his chest, much to his embarrassment.

Spain was facing the bull now, standing with his cape stretched out.

"_Venga,_" he whispered, and the Spaniard waited until he could feel the ground shake beneath his feet before he immediately dodged left, knowing which side his pet preferred well. He could hear the loud cheers of his audience has he turned around and prepared for the next pass, dodging that just as gracefully. His only regret from wearing the blindfold was that he couldn't see Romano's reactions. Was he worried about him? Was he impressed? Spain strained to hear Romano's voice among the calls, but he could hear nothing.

_Stupid Spain_, the Italian thought grudgingly. What a show-off! Was he doing this on purpose? Romano wished he could get some pleasure out of watching his ex possibly get maimed, trampled on, killed, or all of the above. But try as he might, he couldn't. There was only fear and that sickening feeling, that _concern_ that Romano wished so badly he could get rid of. Something was making him feel like he was playing right into that bastard's hands.

_Dammit, I don't care about that asshole! I hope he falls in the dirt in that fancy suit of his! Let the bull maul him! Let him-_

"Argh!" Romano raged, rising up from his seat and leaning over the barrier. "Come on, you stupid bull!" he shouted. "Don't go so fucking easy on him!"

"N-niichan!" his brother gasped, surprised.

"Is that the best you can do?" Romano taunted. "Some challenge you are! I've seen sheep more ferocious than you!"

"I think he's lost it," Germany said to the younger Italian.

Romano didn't stop, though. He continued to hurl insults at the bull, feeling his concern for the Spaniard further suppressed with every word.

"Are those horns on your head just decorations? Use them, you stupid steak on legs!"

He was starting to gather attention from the other people around him, who stopped their own cheering just to stare at the crazy-eyed Italian that insisted on rooting for the bull in his own verbally abusive way.

The nearby audience weren't the only ones who heard him. Spain finally distinguished the voice he had been waiting for, only to hear that it was spilling words calling for his doom. He tried to bite back the hurt he felt as he listened to Romano cheer against him. It caused him to stumble forward a few times, drawing a few gasps from the crowd as his graceful dance was broken, but he pulled himself together the best he could and tried to continue the act. The one that was probably the most dramatically affected though, the one who Romano's words stirred the most emotion in, was none other than the bull itself.

Torito stopped charging and turned towards the source of the voice. What he saw was the same obnoxious brat that had been tormenting him for centuries. That sneering face, that taunting voice…Though he was an old bull, he had a good memory. _Romano throwing rocks at him from the second floor of Spain's house. Romano calling him names and insulting his mother's udder. Romano chasing him with a branding iron. Romano trying to sell him to America for hamburger meat…_He had waited so long to plow his horns into his annoying flesh and throw him high up in the air. Spain had made sure to keep them apart for that reason, but now, the black animal finally had a small opening, a window for revenge.

Spain knew something was wrong the moment the pounding hoofs started charging in another direction. He hooked a finger under the blindfold and raised it up a bit curiously before ripping it off in horror. The bull, with an apparently renewed source of energy, was bolting towards the stands at full speed, blinded by rage. And the one he was charging at…was none other than his Romanito. Panicking, Spain ran to intercept the beast.

"NO! Wait! Stop!"

Those barriers were made of nothing but wood. If the bull hit them, they'd surely break, and Romano would be hurt. Though his size didn't indicate much, Torito was stronger than an average bull. Some of the audience was already catching on and fleeing the seating area as fast as they could. Romano, however, felt rooted in place, even as his brother tugged his arm.

"Niichan!" Veneziano shrieked as he watched the bull charge towards them.

He wasn't able to do anything to move the other Italian, but a certain German was. Before Romano knew what was happening, a strong arm wrapped around him and lifted him right off his feet, swinging him in the direction that everyone was running in.

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU BASTARD!" Romano hollered as he struggled to free himself.

Germany complied and watched in shock as Romano stupidly ran towards the barrier again and leaned over it, eyes locked anxiously on Spain. The Spaniard was running full speed along the side of the barrier, intent on intercepting the bull. Romano couldn't believe it. _That dumbass!_

"_Para!" _Spain yelled as he closed the final distance and did the stupidest thing yet. Romano's mouth fell open in shock, and the whole stadium seemed to drop silent with horror as they watched their beloved nation step right in front of the charging animal.

His pet immediately tried to halt upon seeing his master in his path, but the momentum had already been built up and it was impossible for his large bulky body to stop that quickly. Hoofs skidded on the dirt floor, and Spain was butted forward with such a force that he slammed into the wooden barrier, giving it a good crack. Romano felt every part of him tighten in horror as he watched his ex-lover collapse in a clumsy heap beside the hard wall. Torito was just looking down at him miserably, anger forgotten.

"Shit!" Romano hissed and leapt over the barrier, not even thinking of the danger of landing right next to the bull that had been about to charge him.

Spain was motionless. His colorful costume was covered in dirt, and his face was frozen in a strained expression of pain.

"You BASTARD!" Romano yelled at him "You stupid IDIOT!"

He knelt down on the dirt and took Spain's limp body onto his lap. His heart was torn between concern and a deep-rooted grudge, but for now, he just needed to know if his ex was okay.

"Spain-niichan!" Veneziano shrieked, following his brother to the other side of the stands.

Germany wasn't far behind. The large blonde came up beside Romano and knelt down to check the fallen matador's pulse as the older Italian glared at him.

"He's not dead," he confirmed, though no one had really been expecting otherwise. Nations were built out of tough stuff, but this had hardly been a minor accident. Spain looked like he was barely breathing. His arm was twisted in an awkward position, and he still wouldn't open his eyes.

"Stupid," Romano was muttering, looking down at his former guardian's face, "I can't believe you did that, dumbass. Why?"

His voice cracked, and Germany stood up to give him some space. Italy tried to rush forward, but the German grabbed a hold of him, pulling him back. Veneziano's protests were stifled when he saw his brother start to tremble a little.

_Damn it! _Romano thought, his face tinted with embarrassment. _I'm not supposed to care! You bastard…Who were you trying to protect? _It was true that Veneziano had been standing next to him behind the barrier, but Romano wanted so badly to believe that he had been the one Spain had stood in front of the bull for. _This is my fault, _the Italian thought bitterly. _He shouldn't have done that…_

Spain began to stir, startling the one holding him slightly. He grunted and opened his eyes to stare at a flustered Romano, who was trying so hard to suppress the emotions battling within him and keep any of them from being exposed in front of the man. Spain's half-smile broke through his barrier with the force of a bull, however, and the Italian hissed out a curse as the first tear escaped.

"Romano," Spain said weakly, reaching up to wipe it away. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Shut up, bastard!" he choked. "I should let that bull trample you for doing something so stupid!"

"But Roma, I…I'd do anything for you."

_No! _the Italian thought. _Lies lies lies…You won't trick me again, jackass! _He cried as Spain rubbed his cheek, but no matter how many times he told himself he couldn't trust him, he found himself stupidly falling for the Spaniard's words. He believed him. Whether it was the truth or not didn't matter enough to question. _Am I really this gullible?_

Spain slid his hand around the back of Romano's neck and drew him in as he lifted himself up shakily and pressed his lips to the Italian's. Romano could hear his deep, breathy voice as they drew apart.

"For you, _mi amor_, I'd dance with death."

Romano's face burned hot as his mouth hung open, trying to think of how to respond, but no words came. He just stared back at the man in his arms, his eyes locked with those emerald orbs.

"Besides," the Spaniard laughed, looking at his speechless face, "you hit so much harder, Romano."

Spain yelped as his ex's grip became far less gentle. Sympathy melted away with the anger that was starting to burn within the Italian. Before he had a chance to throw the Spaniard down on the dirt or show him just how much harder he could hit, though, a series of voices suddenly rang out behind him.

"Surround it! Don't let it get away!"

"We've got it cornered!"

"Some ferocious beast! It's not even trying to fight anymore!"

"We can't take any chances! Kill it, before it tries to hurt _Señor España _again!"

Spain's half-lidded eyes shot open wide. He struggled to sit up, but winced once he tried to move his broken arm.

"Wait!" he cried desperately to the men preparing to slay his bull. "_No matéis a mi Torito!_"

He felt Romano's arms stiffen around him suddenly, and panic seized the Spaniard as he realized he had slipped.

"Did you just say…'Torito'?" Romano growled. "As in…your _pet_?"

"W-wait, Romano, it's not-"

"What?" Romano demanded. "What's going on here?"

Spain fumbled for the right words, but none came. The Italian was glaring at him suspiciously as if he could read the guilt written all over the other's face. The attachment that had been there only moments ago was now replaced by distrust as he glared down at the crumpled nation.

"Was this all just some kind of set-up?" Romano muttered. "Who were you trying to fool?"

"N-no one," Spain replied, unable to stop the lie before it spilled from his lips. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt by this! I know it looked like I was putting myself in danger, but-"

"Did you get yourself hit by that bull on _purpose?"_

"No! Of course not! I wasn't expecting him to charge for you! Your taunts must have made him mad-"

"Don't try to blame this on ME!" the Italian shouted at him. "Just tell me why you did this! Why did you stage a fake bullfight?"

Spain looked at him silently, unsure how to respond. Was it best to tell the truth, even when the truth could make things worse?

"I wanted to get your attention," he said finally. "I needed you to listen to me. I know it was stupid, but there was no other way."

Romano stared at him, frustration and confusion swirling in his head. He tried to ignore the voice in his head calling for him to give the man a chance, to take him back and attempt to return to the way they had been. That brief moment of trust hadn't completely faded. But he also hadn't forgotten how Spain had hurt him so easily. He knew he could do it again if he let him- and the man hadn't exactly been proving his trustworthiness in staging this fight. He had not only made Romano worry, but _cry_ in front of everyone. He had played with his emotions and made him question himself, and for what? For watching him play with his pet. The Italian was disgusted. No, it was going to take more than that to get him to trust the man again.

"You're a liar," Romano spat, pushing him away and letting the Spaniard slide unceremoniously off his lap. "So you thought you could tell me the 'truth' by coming up with another lie? You're an idiot! And I'm not-" he started, rising to his feet, "-ready to forgive you yet."

With that, he stormed away, leaving Spain in the dirt. Veneziano tried to grab him as he passed, but Romano elbowed him with such a force that Germany had to catch the younger Italian before he fell over. The limp matador watched his ex-lover from the ground, silent tears running over the bridge of his nose and down his cheek. After all that, he had failed again. His heart cried out desperately as he lay there, useless, and watched his love leave the ring. _Romano! Please! Please come back…Come back and listen to me. _He couldn't even get up to chase after him.

Germany called off the other Spanish men as they cornered the frightened bull, and Veneziano knelt down next to Spain, trying to help him to his feet. The Country of Passion didn't stir, though. He closed his eyes, and waited until Torito's nudging and Germany's commanding voice roused him from his sulking sense of defeat. Strong hands lifted him from the ground, and Spain cradled his injured arm as a team of his people arrived to take him away. He barely heard the concern in their voices as they fussed over him and his broken limb. Spain only stared down at it wordlessly, distracted by a different kind of pain.

_Romano…you hit so much harder._

_/_

tbc

_

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_

A/N: I think I have a new favorite chapter! 8D Oh, Spain, I'm so, so horrible to you. ;w; Just know that I only torture the ones I love!

Okay, first off, to give credit where credit's due, some parts of this chapter were heavily inspired by a comic on DA (check my profile for the link). After reading that, I just couldn't imagine a bullfighting scene with Spain and Romano that ended any other way! XD Well, obviously I twisted it to fit the story, but certain elements are still there.

I had some qualms about writing a bullfighting scene, especially after doing some research on it. I may not be a vegetarian, but I am an animal lover, and the torture that those poor bulls go through is just inhumane in my opinion. It's not like the cartoons where a bull just chases around a guy with a cape. They get stabbed and weakened and guh...Actually, I lot of what I knew about bullfighting is a lie! XD Red doesn't even infuriate them (seeing as they're colorblind to that), it's just the movement of the cape that makes them charge.

_"It's not every day you get to see a country performing his 'national sport.'"_ I thought I should note here that football (soccer) is Spain's real national sport.

Some translations-  
_Venga_- come  
_Para!_- stop!  
_No matéis a mi Torito!_- Don't kill my Torito! ;o;

So it looks like Spain's going to have to try a little harder. Cuz jumping in front of a bull and breaking your arm's just not gonna cut it, you know! I tried so hard to keep this chapter from being cliche...probably didn't work, but I did my best. We've still got a bit to go before reaching the end. Might take a while since it requires much planning. I really hope you're enjoying this so far! ^^ Let me know what you think~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Well, I'm surprised. I didn't think you cared to come to me for help anymore."

The bespectacled man put down his cup of tea and stared at the miserable-looking country on the other side of the table. Spain slumped in his seat, a direct contrast to Austria's perfect posture. His arm hung in a sling over his stomach as he turned his sulky expression up at his former Hapsburg housemate.

"France wasn't home when I stopped by…and I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice," he murmured. "Since, you know, you went to the Well too."

The Austrian grimaced, not fond of the memory his guest was bringing up. Since **the Incident**, he hadn't had one moment alone with Hungary that wasn't uncomfortably awkward. Spain looked like he was in far worse shape, however. He watched as the other man lifted a teacup to his lips shakily with his non-dominant hand and took a half-hearted sip.

"And what kind of advice were you hoping for?"

Spain turned that pitiful green gaze up at the other man, making the Austrian feel a sudden pang of unexpected sympathy. Spain took a moment to answer him as he thought to himself.

"How do you make someone believe you love them?" he asked so quietly that Austria barely heard him.

The aristocratic nation sighed and looked away towards the window. The sun was pouring through it and shining into his elegant sitting room, giving it a warmth that soothed his anxiety, even if it didn't seem to do much for his guest. Spain looked as gloomy as if it were pouring rain.

"I wouldn't know," Austria replied, "seeing as how my own truth hasn't been resolved."

Spain looked up at him curiously.

"Then you and Hungary haven't-"

"I-it's no concern of yours!" Austria sputtered indignantly, earning a knowing half-smile from the other man. "And no one ever said it was her."

Spain just stared at him.

"…Who else would it be?"

Austria grunted, defeated. He could feel his face grow hot just thinking that he was so easy for even someone as oblivious as the other man to read. Spain just shifted in his seat, finally sitting up straighter.

"If you know how you feel about her, you should just tell her," he said. "It's obvious that she feels the same for you."

"T-there's nothing to say," the Austrian told him, looking quite flustered.

"What do you have to lose?" Spain asked, his voice dropping low as he looked down at his injured arm. "Love's not easy, but - it's something worth fighting for. It would be so much easier for you two…"

"Don't compare your crumbling relationship to my nonexistent one," Austria snapped, and felt a stinging shred of guilt as Spain looked at him like a kicked puppy.

"I'm so miserable without him," Spain murmured. "I'd give anything to have him back. That's why I can't give up. And you shouldn't either! Wouldn't you regret it if you didn't even try?"

Austria frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, but before he could reply, there was a servant at the door calling for his attention.

"_Herr Österreich, Herr Frankreich_ is here to see you," the servant announced.

Austria raised an eyebrow, and Spain managed a small smile.

"Very well. Show him in."

France entered the room a moment later, a troubled look on his face. Austria rose to greet him, and Spain soon followed, rising slowly and clutching his arm to steady it as he stood behind his host, half hidden from France's view.

"This is a surprise," Austria commented. "Two guests on the same day, within the same hour. Were you looking for him?"

He stepped back to give France a better view of Spain.

"No," the Frenchman replied. "Actually, I came here to ask- _Mon Dieu! Espagne! _What happened to your arm?"

"Oh, um," the Spaniard started, clearing his throat, "bullfight."

France's eyes widened in disbelief and shock.

"WHAT? But _mon ami! _I thought you said you gave it up!"

"I did," Spain admitted, "but well, I kind of…staged a fake one to help me win Romano back. I thought if I put myself in danger, he'd get worried about me, and I'd finally be able to get him to listen to me again."

France stared at him incredulously. His look changed to one of sympathetic pity as he frowned down at his friend.

"_Espagne_…this whole affair has driven you mad, hasn't it?"

"I already expressed by disbelief at the idiocy of his theory," Austria put in, crossing his arms and shaking his head at Spain. "Now look how you've ended up."

Spain's eyes filled with tears. He sniffled and looked down at his own bandaged limb, feeling pathetic. A tear escaped and ran down his cheek. Immediately, France was at his side, holding his friend in a comforting embrace.

"Don't cry, _Espagne_," he murmured into his ear.

"I was so close," Spain whimpered. "He was holding me in his arms. He was crying for me. He let me _kiss _him."

Even when they had been together, it had been difficult for Spain to get a kiss in public without being pushed away or scolded for it afterwards. He had savored that moment, short as it had been.

"Then what went wrong?" France asked.

"Once he found out I staged the fight, he dropped me in the dirt and left," Spain sighed miserably. "But there was nothing I could do…They were going to kill Torito."

France's face twisted in a puzzled expression, but he just hugged his friend tighter, being careful of his arm.

"Oh, _mon ami_…You have to know when to quit. If you've tried everything so far and he doesn't show any signs of forgiveness, there's only one thing left for you to do."

"What's that?" Spain asked groggily, unable to think clearly.

"Let him go."

Spain drew back suddenly, giving France a disbelieving look of shock.

"I-I can't do that!"

France sighed.

"I know you don't _want _to, _Espagne_…but what other choice do you have? If Romano won't take you back, you have to move on. To let _him _move on."

Spain's eyebrows furrowed and he stared down at the ground. Was France right? Was he really out of options? He had tried so hard, but all his attempts so far had failed. Would it be kinder to Romano to just get out of his life? He wanted what was best for his little Tomatito, but…Spain snapped out of it, shaking his head stubbornly.

"There's no way I can let him go," he insisted. "He means too much to me…I _know _he still loves me. And I'm not going to give up on him. He's the only one I want, and I'm not going to stop trying to get him back no matter what it takes."

"Even if he breaks all the other bones in your body?" France growled, voice suddenly turned aggressive.

Spain looked down at his arm again and nodded.

"Even if it kills me."

"You really are crazy," France murmured worriedly, hand on Spain's shoulder. He slid it up the Spaniard's neck and cupped his chin, looking into his bright green eyes. "What do I have to do to knock some sense into you?"

"Help me," Spain pleaded. "Ita-chan's idea didn't work. My idea didn't work. I need a new plan."

A slight scoff turned his attention back to Austria.

"You want to ask _him _for help now too? There's nothing that France can offer you that will make the situation any better. Actually, there's a far better chance that it will become worse."

"Hey!" France protested, indignantly. "I resent that cruel remark! It just so happens that I have the perfect plan for _Espagne _to win back his love. One that is sure not to fail!"

Spain looked at him hopefully.

"Really? Do you think it would work for Austria too? He's still having problems with Hungary…"

"I did NOT give you permission to speak about that!" Austria burst out, mortified.

France gave him an amused smirk as the other man flushed a deep red. He shook his head at Spain.

"Aw, but _L'Autriche _has no need of my help, _mon ami_. With his charming looks and elegant piano playing, he could easily win any woman's affections! Especially _Mademoiselle Hongrie_'s." He turned back to Austria. "All it would take would be a song from your heart."

Austria cleared his throat and looked away to hide his embarrassment. A song? Well…it was possible, he supposed. Maybe the Frenchman didn't always have such horrible ideas after all. Only the majority of the time. Truthfully, the aristocrat could think of no better way to express himself than through the medium he loved most. Still…he was worried. Would it be enough?

"It just so happens that I have the perfect opportunity for you. As you surely know, my party is being held this weekend," France told them. "If you would be so kind, _L'Autriche, _I need a skilled pianist such as yourself in order to build the right atmosphere."

Austria raised an eyebrow.

"You're hosting a party? May I ask the occasion?"

"Oh, _mon ami_, you wound me! Well, who would blame you for forgetting such a glorious event such as the day of my birth when you have so many…sensitive issues to deal with at the moment."

The Austrian just glared at him, and Spain chuckled quietly to himself. He had to admit, he too had also almost forgotten about his blonde friend's birthday in the midst of recent events, but France hadn't hesitated to remind him constantly. Spain really needed it sometimes, no matter what else was going on around him.

"Of course, I'm expecting quite a large attendance," the Frenchman continued. "Tomorrow at the World Summit, I shall extend the invite to other nations. What a grand ball it shall be!"

"Hm," Austria responded, "I suppose if it's a birthday request, I could be persuaded to come play for you."

"Wonderful!" France cried, throwing his arms around the other man, much to the Austrian's discomfort. "I'm so happy to hear it."

Spain smiled at them.

"Good thing you didn't come all the way out here for nothing, then, _mi amigo!_"

France jumped as he suddenly remembered something.

"T-that's not why I'm here! I came to ask _L'Autriche _a question," he said, looking back towards the bespectacled man. "Have you, by chance, seen Prussia?"

"Prussia?" the Austrian repeated, frowning. "Why would I have any idea where that obnoxious ex-country is lurking?"

"He's missing?" Spain asked with a concerned look on his face.

"No one's seen him since that day at the Well. I've already asked Hungary, and she claims she had nothing to do with it. He was, according to her, still alive when she left."

Austria twitched slightly at the mention of Hungary's name, but didn't say anything. Spain's eyes widened as he gaped a bit, and he looked just as distressed as France had been upon arriving.

"Germany can't find him either?"

"We've looked everywhere," France sighed. "My last thought was to come here and see if maybe he's been around to pester Austria recently."

"I can assure you he has not," Austria replied with a frown. "But I'm sure you will find him trying to sneak into the World Summit tomorrow."

"That's true," France sighed. "I only hope he's okay."

"So do I," Spain said worriedly. "I'll help look for him too."

France smiled fondly at his Spanish friend and left Austria's side to come embrace him.

"Thank you, _Espagne_. I'm sure that, together, we will find him."

"I'm sorry I didn't know about it before," the other man replied guiltily. "I haven't been much good at keeping up with you two lately."

"Yes, well," France said in a low voice as he leaned towards Spain's ear, "maybe soon, you will be…"

Spain's face twisted in confusion, but he smiled and hugged his friend back warmly with one arm. France started moving his hands lower along the other man's back and slipped them under Spain's shirt as Austria scowled at them from the table.

"If you two are going to get intimate, I request that you leave my presence," he told them, "and preferably my house as well."

France laughed as he squeezed Spain closer to him for a moment before letting go.

"As you wish, _L'Autriche. _We'll see you at the World Summit."

"Yes…" Austria replied, trying not to look as annoyed as he felt.

"Good luck with the song, Austria!" Spain said cheerfully as he left. "_Adios."_

France wrapped an arm around him as they left, pleased with his friend's renewed good spirits. The Spaniard seemed too happy to even notice the other's hands roaming his body. What France didn't know, though, was that behind that showy smile, Spain was only thinking about Romano. _I can't give up. I have to keep trying until he believes me…No matter how long it takes - or what I have to do. It's not impossible. Together, France and I'll come up with something. We have to! Romano…wait just a bit more, please. _He wondered what kind of plan France had in store for him. The blonde grinned knowingly to himself, enjoying the way his thoughts were turning more and more as he reached down and gave Spain a good grope. _Just you wait till you see what I have in store for you, Espagne._

Austria sighed as the unexpected guests finally left his house. Why had Spain bothered to come to him for help at all? No matter. He had more important things to focus on. He went to his piano and sat down, closing his eyes and concentrating on his own thoughts. _Hungary…how do I tell you that I love you? Of course three words are not enough to express everything I need to say. _He took another deep breath and tried to clear his mind. He wouldn't think- he'd just feel. Putting his hands over the keys, he began to play, allowing everything within him to flow out from tips of his fingers - a message anyone could hear, but only he could truly understand.

/

tbc

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A/N: Pfft, this chapter is such a tease. It may not be as exciting as the last one, but I hope I`ve managed to build up your suspense! What this- subplots? Well, we shouldn`t leave anyone hanging, right? I`ve finished planning out the major plot points for the rest of the story and can honestly tell you to expect about 4 more chapters depending on how things get split up/combined. Now I wonder if Austria`s predictions about France`s plan will come true...

Still don`t know if his song should have lyrics...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

England sat in his seat at the World Summit miserably, watching the other nations around him chat with each other as they all awaited the start of the meeting. He had been there the earliest of them all and not a single person had spoken with him so far. Everyone was occupied with someone else, someone who was not him. Normally it wouldn't have bothered the Briton. There really was only one person he cared to talk to, but that person had been babbling away to Japan nonstop since the moment he had arrived.

"-but you have to admit, even if Godzilla is big enough to match King Kong, and he's got some killer claws and everything, but he's still a lizard, and lizards are cold-blooded so there's no way he'd win a fight if they took it to the arctic or someplace with a lot of snow…"

England just sighed and shook his head. Why did he care so much? It's not like the boy had given him a lot of attention lately. He seemed pretty determined to ignore England at times or at least act superior to him. It certainly got on the other man's nerves when his former colony showed him so much disrespect. _America, you can be so arrogant sometimes…_

What had happened to the days when the younger blonde had admired him? When he had been the big strong one? Was England just not "cool" enough to hang around anymore? America seemed content to spend lots of time with Japan, who was also a much older nation, and England felt as if he had somehow lost touch with the boy ever since those two had become friends. _Well, I may not be as interested in robots or video games…but I am still important to you, aren't I?_

He was so distracted by the American that he didn't notice someone come creeping up behind him. The assailant took advantage of the Briton's guard being down and grabbed him by the shoulders, startling England so much that he nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Wh-what the-? What the bloody hell did you do that for, you lout? "

"Haha, relax, _Angleterre_," France laughed. "I was only testing your awareness."

"Like hell you were! You just love getting a rise out of me every chance you get!"

"Someone seems crabbier than usual. Something bothering you, _mon ami_?"

"That's none of your business, frog! Now leave me alone!"

England crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. France appeared to back off, but casually walked over to the other man's side and sat down next to him instead. He followed the Englishman's gaze and found its target, much to England's embarrassment.

"Ah, so it's _petite Amérique_ that has your attention right now. Or rather…you don't have his."

"S-shut your mouth!" England cried, a little too loudly. Some of the other nations turned to look at him for a moment before returning to their own conversations. The blonde man flushed red. "Why do you always have to stick your nose in everything?" he muttered.

"I'd be more than willing to help, if you would tell me what's troubling you about him."

"N-nothing is! Stop trying to read me, bastard! It's…it's not fair!"

France raised an eyebrow at him, and England turned away from him sulkily. The Frenchman smiled at him and returned a hand to his shoulder as the other man flinched.

"It's difficult _not _to see what's bothering you when you make such a display out of it," he grinned. "I really am the best person to come to when one is having…relationship trouble."

The Briton bristled.

"You haven't a bloody clue what you're talking about! You're the _last _person I'd seek advice from for absolutely anything, so just piss off and LEAVE ME ALONE."

France frowned at him in distaste.

"Not much of a gentleman when you're lovesick, are you? Very well…but just remember- when all else fails, I can still be the last person you turn to."

With that, he winked and departed, leaving the other man to grit his teeth and shoot deathly glares at his back.

On the other side of the room, Romano was sitting next to his brother, who was chatting happily away with Germany, much to the older Italian's dismay. He ignored their conversation for the most part, eyes traveling around the conference room and finally settling on a miserable-looking country not too far from him. Romano gritted his teeth as Spain crossed the room and came up to him.

"Romano! _Mi amor_, please listen to me!" he begged. "I know you're still upset about before, but please don't shut me out!"

Germany and Veneziano stopped talking to stare at the Spaniard. Romano could feel his face going red with embarrassment and anger at the other man. He wouldn`t give in, though. He wasn`t about to let his ex-lover humiliate him by causing a scene. As much as he wanted to yell at Spain and take out some of his frustration on him, he wouldn`t do it. He glared at the other man, rose steadily to his feet, and did what Italians did best- retreated.

"Romanooo! " Spain cried as the man he was trying to talk to fled out of the room at lightening speed.

Immediately, Spain prepared to give chase, but he was suddenly jerked back as France caught a hold of his good arm.

"Wait, _Espagne_, " his friend told him."You must be patient. Romano will listen to you when he is ready. "

Spain whimpered pathetically and pulled his arm away as he looked at the blonde. "I know, it`s just…I miss him so much."

France gave the man a sympathetic frown, and Veneziano went even more water-eyed than Spain himself was getting.

"Wah! Spain-niichan! I hate to see you so sad! "

Germany just shook his head. "It can`t be helped when you consider who he`s

dealing with. I`ve never met anyone more stubborn than your brother….except maybe mine. "

France looked at the German, his interest peeked. "Have you seen any sign of _Prusse_? " he asked eagerly.

Germany shook his head tiredly. "Nothing. I was up all night looking for him, but there`s absolutely no sign of him anywhere. I haven`t the faintest clue where he could have gone that I haven`t checked already."

France frowned at him. "Then he really is untraceable. Oh, _Prusse_, where could you have gone? My birthday celebration is tomorrow..._Espagne_, we have to find him!"

But Spain was too distracted to pay much attention. He kept gazing longingly at the door that Romano had run out of. France`s expression turned to annoyance as he tried to get his friend to share at least a shred of his concern.

"_Espana_! " he called, hoping that Spain`s native language would snap him back to what was going on around him. The Spaniard jumped slightly and glanced at him sheepishly.

"Oh, I`m sorry, _Francia. _What were you saying? "

"Our friend is missing," the blonde said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "A member of our trio may be in trouble, and we need to find him soon."

Spain sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I know, _Francia_, and I really wish there was something we could do but- where else are we supposed to look? We were out for a long time searching too."

"You shouldn't worry about him too much," Germany put in. "_Bruder_ may be reckless…but he can take care of himself. I have faith that he`ll come back soon."

Spain nodded with a slightly relieved expression on his face. France also looked a bit calmer but not completely convinced. Prussia was, after all, not a true nation anymore. Was it possible that he could fade out of existence? The Frenchman refused to believe he was worrying too much, and it bothered him that he was the only one who seemed to really care.

"Ne, Spain-niichan…maybe I can try talking to Romano-niichan for you," Italy said. "I know he may not show it, but I think something about him's changed since the bullfight."

Spain perked up at that, his interest moved completely to the Italian.

"R-really? Do you think he may forgive me soon?"

"I hope so," Veneziano replied. "He's been sulking a bit less…but he still won't talk about you. I don't know what I can do."

France grunted jealously and tried to regain his friend's attention.

"I told you, _Espagne_, you need to be patient! Have some faith in my plan, will you…"

Spain turned to the Frenchman apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but you can't blame me for being impatient, right? If Romano forgives me sooner, I won't have to-"

"SHUSH!" France hissed. "You must keep it a secret, _mon ami_. Don't tell _anyone!_"

"Oh…okay," Spain responded, a little taken aback.

"Which reminds me. _Italie_," France said, turning to Veneziano, "I do have a way you can help _Espagne._"

"Yes?" the other responded eagerly. "What is it?"

"Convince your brother to join us at my birthday celebration, of course. I extended the invitation to him earlier but was quite rudely rejected."

Veneziano frowned.

"Niichan won't go to France-niichan's house? Well, I don' know how, but…I'll do my best to change his mind!"

"Excellent," France said with a smile, though he seemed to be keeping something to himself.

Veneziano beamed at him and excused himself quickly, running off in the direction Romano had gone. Spain watched him and turned his gaze back on France anxiously.

"Do you really think Romano will come? You two haven't exactly gotten along well in the past."

France put an arm around his friend's shoulders, a dismissive and amused look on his face.

"Do not worry about it, _Espagne_. I'm certain it will be a night of revel and…excitement. He's sure not to miss it."

Spain smiled, slightly reassured by this friend's confidence. He knew the Italian well, though, and it was no mystery to him of how stubborn he could be. Hopefully, his brother would be able to convince him to go somehow. Spain turned back to glance at the other nations dispersed throughout the conference room. His eyes landed on England, sitting dejectedly in a chair near the table. France followed his gaze and grinned. The Briton was shifting in his seat and looking generally uncomfortable, as if he was struggling with himself. He noticed France staring at him out of the corner of his eye and shot him a glare before turning away again. France looked amused, but Spain cocked his head, curiously.

"Is something wrong with England?"

France laughed.

"He and you are in very similar situations, _mon ami._"

"Oh really?" the Spaniard asked. "That's too bad. Do you think maybe we could use the same solution?"

France raised his eyebrows at that. Sometimes in his dense mind, Spain had a stroke of brilliance. He liked this idea very much.

"I will recommend it to him," he promised, "but only if he approaches me for help."

England didn't look like he had any intention of doing so, but _Well_, Spain thought, _desperate times call for desperate measures_. Their rough history prevented him and England from getting along well, but he still sympathized with and wished the man the best.

Veneziano rushed down the hall and caught up to his brother in the lobby where the older Italian was sitting on one of the armchairs in the lounge. He had his arms crossed and was glowering at the floor until he spotted Veneziano and turned his angry look in his direction instead.

"Niichan!"

"Ugh, what do you fucking want?" Romano groaned. "If this is about that tomato bastard, I'm not listening, dammit!"

"It's not, Niichan! I promise! This is about France-niichan!"

Romano gave him a disbelieving look that lasted for about five seconds before rising to his feet and walking towards the door.

"Niichan, waaait!" Veneziano cried, leaping at his brother and throwing his arms around him before he had the chance to escape.

"Gah! Let me go, idiot!" Romano growled, struggling in the younger Italian's grip.

"But you have to listen to me!" he whined. "_Please _go to France-niichan's party with me!"

"No...way…in…hell!" the other grunted, still trying to free himself.

Veneziano was stubborn, though. He held on unwaveringly and even used his weight to keep his brother from moving forward. Romano gritted his teeth in frustration and swung his head back in an attempt to hit Veneziano in the face, but his younger brother had learned from past experiences and expertly ducked behind Romano's shoulder on instinct.

"Please!" Veneziano begged. "It won't be the same without you, Niichan!"

Romano stopped struggling to glare back at him out of the corner of his eye.

"No one will care if I don't come, dammit. I don't want to go to that wine bastard's house!"

He was surprised when Veneziano loosened his grip suddenly and swung around in front of him so that the two were face to face and he was forced to look into those pathetic pleading eyes. What really threw him off, though, was that his younger brother's voice was strangely serious as he spoke- not whiny or loud, just quiet and…kinda sad, dammit.

"Don't say that, Niichan. _I'll_ care. I want you there because…you're important to me. Please come!"

Romano gaped at him, dumbstruck. Why was he hesitating? He wasn't going to give into that puppy face! No fucking way! And yet…he still wasn't pushing him aside. The older Italian broke his gaze from Veneziano's expectant eyes and turned his head away, frowning.

"I'll…I'll think about it, dammit," he said finally.

"YAY!" Veneziano cheered and hugged him tightly again, much to his brother's protest.

Damn his weakness…Romano felt like he had been tricked. Well, at least he had made no promises. _Just as long as he lets go of me, dammit._

Back in the conference room, America had finally stopped talking to Japan and had come over to where England was brooding. Spain was not far from him, slumped down in his seat, but he was too busy pretending to listen to France go on about how fabulous his party would be to pay attention to the younger blonde. America leaned over his former colonizer curiously as England glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Iggy! What's shakin'?"

The other man jumped a bit in surprise but looked back at America with a small frown.

"_Nothing_ is 'shakin',' I assure you, except maybe for Latvia over there," England replied, pointing to the trembling nation across the room that was being towered over by Russia.

"You sure seem crabby today, old man," America smirked, unknowingly the second person to have made that comment about the Briton today. "I mean, more than usual."

England glared back at him.

"Who are you calling old? Just because you have less than half the experience I do as a nation doesn't mean you can go around pestering people about their age. I've better things to do than listen to your insults."

"Well, geez. If you wanted me to leave you alone, you should've just said so! You're no fun, Iggy!"

"Don't call me that, you brat! And I am plenty of fun, it's just…"

He stopped, as if suddenly unsure of what he was saying. America stared at him expectantly, but England just flushed red and turned away from him, irritated.

"Nevermind! I'm not having this conversation with you."

He crossed his arms, leaving America with a frown.

"What's wrong, Mr. UK?" the younger man asked, still teasing but with some concern in his voice too.

"Nothing, for goodness sake! Now leave me alone!"

"Heh. You gotta learn to lighten up, Iggy! No one's going to want to hang around you if you stay grumpy and boring!"

With that, he gave England a slap on the shoulder and went on his way. England scowled at him and was about to retort, but America was already back on the other side of the room, chatting it up with Japan again. Instead, the British man gritted his teeth and leaned forward over the table, resting his chin on his knuckles as he stared down sulkily.

"I'm…boring?" he murmured too quietly for anyone to hear.

He and Spain let out a sigh at the same time. France had left his friend's side and now watched the two from a distance, smiling to himself. The stage was set. This would surely be a party everyone would remember. He chuckled quietly to himself. _Stop your worrying, mes amis. There is always help waiting for you if you look in the right places. Sooner or later you will realize…I am the solution to your woes. _

_

* * *

_

**A/N**: *creeps out of the hiding place* Okay, so I owe you all a big apology. -_-; I didn't mean to slack off on this fic! I'm just easily distracted and a lot of stuff's been going on and I suddenly got sick and...yeah. PM me for a list of excuses if that's really what you want. XD I have to admit, this chapter was less exciting for me to write since not a lot happens actionwise BUT...now we're all set up for the big scene. I'm looking forward to it; I know this has been long and coming, but hopefully the wait won't be much longer! Your comments really keep me going (even the nagging ones are great motivation), so please let me know what you think. Hmm, now do you think Romano's _really_ going to go to that party? XD;


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"_Waaaah! Niichan, you promised!"_

Romano could easily imagine the whiny words that would come from Veneziano's mouth the next time he saw him. His escape plan had been successful when his idiot of a little brother had happily agreed to go ahead and enter France's house before him instead of going in together. Veneziano had been too trusting and naïve to realize that the older Italian had no intention of following him inside after all. _Why should I? _Romano had thought. _It's not like I care about that wine bastard's birthday…_

Still, he couldn't deny that part of him felt guilty. It seemed that Veneziano had really been looking forward to Romano coming with him, even though Romano himself knew that his little brother was likely to be hanging off of Germany all night instead of paying much attention to him. _I'll just make it up to the dumbass later. No reason to go somewhere Spain's gonna be, dammit. _

**Earlier That Night**

French territory was usually the last place Romano ever wanted to be. Yet, he found himself headed there on the night of France's party. The whole drive he was asking himself why he was going. The whole drive, his brother was babbling more and more about how much fun it was going to be.

"I'm so glad you're going, Niichan! I'm sure France-niichan will love to see you. Spain-niichan too…I know you're still mad at him, but don't you think you can try talking to him there? He really misses you! I think he'd be happy, even if you just said 'hi.'"

Romano gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"Didn't I tell you I didn't want to talk about that tomato bastard? That was the condition for me coming, dammit!"

"Wah! I'm sorry, Niichan! But couldn't help it, ve~! He's been sulking and asking-"

"If you mention him one more time, I'll turn this car around, idiot!"

The older Italian didn't need to look at his brother to tell what kind of face he was making. Dammit! Why did Veneziano always do this to him? Romano could be so furious with him, want to smack him upside the head and call him all sorts of names with his colorful vocabulary…but deep down he knew he could never truly hate him. They were two parts of one whole and even if the Southern half was often overlooked in favor of the Northern, together they both were one Italy.

"Quit looking at me that way, dammit! I hate you so much," he muttered, earning a whimper from his passenger.

"Niichan doesn't mean it," Veneziano whined. "I know you don't! This is really bothering you, isn't it? Talk about it, with me, Niichan! Please."

"I told you I don't want to fucking talk about it!" Romano yelled back at him. "Why can't you just drop it?"

"Because!" his brother shouted back, grabbing onto his arm. "Until it goes away, no one's going to be happy! Not you, not me, and not Spa-"

Romano pulled the car over with a screech and glared at the man next to him, almost too angry to speak.

"I said…I don't fucking. Want to. Talk about it!"

Veneziano cringed and stuttered in response.

"O-okay! Okay! I'm sorry! I, I promise I won't bring it up again! Don't yell, Niichan…"

"I'll yell if I want to, dammit! I…I…" His tone fell flat. This wasn't helping. This really wasn't doing him any good at all. He looked at his brother, with that stupid quivering lip and that stupid hurt expression. It made him feel like a jerk, but he tried to convince himself he didn't care. He grunted and pulled back onto the road. The rest of the trip to France's house was mostly silent until Veneziano started babbling about a new pasta recipe he wanted to try, getting nothing but hums as a response from his older brother.

When they finally arrived, Romano told the younger Italian to go on ahead and that he'd be there later. Veneziano looked at him questioningly at first, but soon smiled - that stupid oblivious smile that almost reminded Romano of someone he was trying so hard not to think about - and left, practically skipping to the door while his older brother sat back in the driver's seat and sighed. Romano watched his brother enter the house and sat in the car for about five more minutes before finally turning the engine back on and pulling back out of the driveway.

**The Present**

Even though Romano intended to drive straight back home from there afterwards (his brother could find another ride, dammit), he found himself headed to a place he had been longing to visit ever since, well…the incident. He wasn't even sure why he wanted to go there. It wasn't as if the Well of Uncomfortable Truths would explain what it had said to him, and Romano knew it didn't need to. He understood it perfectly well- his truth and Spain's too. He knew he did. He just…needed somewhere to think.

The place wasn't too far from France's house, but by the time he arrived, the sun had already set. He parked in the closest spot he could find and fumbled through the dark, hoping he was headed in the right direction. He looked around the forested area, but there was no sign of the lump of stones that circled around that accursed hole in the ground. Just as he was about to give up, though, he came into the clearing and saw the well bathed in the weak moonlight. He took a step towards it, but stopped suddenly, seeing that someone else had already come before him. Romano hid behind a tree and peeked around the trunk, watching the figure. Whoever it was wore a large cloak that covered his body completely and trailed down to the floor. He stood right near the well's edge and looked up at the moon hidden behind a veil of dark clouds. As he did so, his hood slipped off to reveal a head of light-colored hair. The Italian listened curiously as the mysterious man spoke.

"I call upon the spirit of this well! Speak to me!"

Romano frowned, realizing the voice sounded somewhat familiar. Who was he? And did he really expect the well to answer him, just like that? There was a moment of silence and suddenly, a voice burst out from the depths of the well, echoing up its stony wall and startling both the Italian and the mysterious cloaked man.

**"I am the voice of the Well! Who goes there?" **it bellowed so loudly that Romano and the man both jumped. Once the stranger had relaxed a bit, he spoke to the well confidently.

"My name is not important! I came to you earlier last week and had my truth told. Now I wish to discuss the matter with you-"

**"All those that wish to speak to my awesome self must first throw in a coin!" the voice interrupted. "Then and only then will I listen to what you have to say! Maybe. Kesesesese!" **

The hooded man was quiet for a moment before he finally sighed and dug through his pockets. The voice of the well was still laughing until he threw the bit of metal in and it stopped abruptly, muttering what Romano thought might be a profanity.

"I've given you what you asked for!" the man by the well said. "Now listen to me! I want to know exactly who you were talking about! Who is it that I want to impress? I'm not about to make a fool of myself by courting the wrong person."

**"Haha!" **the well burst out, amused.** "So it's you, Brows! Don't be a liar- you know who it is! Don't try to get out of this now! Backing down is totally unawesome! Go show him what you're made of, you tea-sipping pansy!" **

There was a yelp of surprise and the cloaked man staggered back. Romano knew who he was now; there was only one man it could be with a truth like that- England. The Well laughed manically as the Briton stared at it, dumbfounded.

"I-I…" he stammered.

**"Are you a man or what? The guy's never going to respect you if you don't earn it!"**

The night was quiet except for the voice laughing while its visitor stared at it for a long moment.

"Yes, you're right," England finally replied, thoughtfully. "I can only give it my best attempt, even if the means are…questionable. I can't run from this anymore. Thank you, Well. Goodbye."

With that, he started walking away while the Well cackled behind him. Romano watched as England passed his hiding place without even noticing the Italian. Laughter echoed through the stony void until it stopped abruptly, as if the Briton's departure had only just been realized.

**"H-hey, Brows! Wait! Come back! Aww, FUCK."**

Romano poked his head around the tree trunk curiously. There was something very strange about this well tonight. The Italian suddenly became suspicious as he realized that its voice may have also been one he'd heard before. He would have realized it sooner had he not fallen for the illusion. Cautiously, he approached the stony walls and peeked down into its depths. No good- it was pitch black. The moment his silhouette appeared in the circle of moonlight at the top, however, the voice cried out at him, startling Romano enough to go tumbling backwards with a curse.

**"SEVEN DAYS!"** it wailed.

Romano glared at the well from the ground and got to his feet again. He fought the desire to throw something hard and heavy down into the water. The Italian approached the edge again and threw his invisible frown down at the figure hidden deep within the ground.

"Oy, Potato Bastard's brother! How'd you manage to get yourself stuck down there, dumbass?"

There was silence for a moment before the voice down below replied in a mixture of relief, excitement, and contempt.

"Is that you, Tomato Brat? Well don't just stand there! Help my Awesome Self out of here! Move it!"

"Don't you want to add a 'please' to that, stupid? I could just leave you down there if I want to."

"Don't be an ass!" Prussia yelled back angrily. "What would Spain say if you left his Awesome friend down here? Now go grab me some rope or something!"

"I don't give a damn about Spain!" Romano growled. "And I'm not all that fond of you either! If I help you out of there, it's going to be out of the fucking goodness of my heart, so you'd better change your tune, dammit!"

"Kesesese! I know you're still lovesick over that poor fool! You're just too damn stubborn to admit it. He should've given up on you weeks ago! Anyone with sense would after the way you've treated him."

"What the hell would you know? Shut up and stop talking about things you haven't got a fucking clue about!"

"Ha! I was there when this well spoke to you two! And I've got another truth for you, kid. **You're still not over him!**"

Moments after the words had left the Prussian's mouth in that dramatic voice, the woods were quiet except for the small thud and splash of a rock falling down into the depths of the well. There was a loud cry of pain that the Italian ignored as he stormed off. The nerve of that idiot. Let him rot down there!

Meanwhile at France's house, another Italian was frantically searching for his brother. He pushed his way through the crowded house until he finally found the host in the middle of his grand ballroom. The Frenchman was speaking with some of his guests, a glass of wine in his hand. Veneziano suddenly leapt at him, latching onto his arm.

"France-niichan! I can't find Romano-niichan anywhere!"

The host gave out a startled yelp and splashed the contents of his glass onto the guest next to him. He winced and turned his head with a wry smile on his face only to meet the burning glare of a certain Austrian.

"France," the bespectacled man growled in a voice that could only mean death, "you buffoon- you've ruined my cravat!"

"Don't yell at me, _mon ami_. It was clumsy little Itachan here," the blonde replied, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the wine off Austria's glasses, the better for him to see who was really at fault.

"I'm so sorry!" Veneziano apologized to his former boss. "I'm just so worried. He said he'd follow me in, but I haven't seen him since we got here, and it's been a long time!"

"Calm down, _Italie_," France told him as Austria muttered something and huffed away to get cleaned up. "I'm sure your brother is just sulking around somewhere trying to avoid…certain people." He grinned to himself and Veneziano cocked his head, confused for a moment before it clicked.

"Ah! You mean Spain-niichan? Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him either!"

"Don't you worry about him," the host replied. "He'll be along shortly, hohoho."

"Oh? I wonder if he found Romano-niichan already…"

"Doubtful," France replied. "He should still be getting ready."

"For what?"

"Oh, you'll see, _mon petit_. You'll see…"

The wind blew lightly at Romano's clothes as the Italian made his way back to the car. He couldn't deny the reluctant guilt he felt at leaving Prussia behind, but he tried to ignore it as best he could. _I don't have a way of getting him out of there anyway_, he thought. _Someone else can help the bastard_. But the more he thought about the silver-haired man and how long he had been stuck down there, the worst he felt. No one else knew that he was there. What if the stone had knocked him out? What if the idiot drowned down there and it ended up being Romano's fault? The Italian didn't have long to think further about it, though. He had only made it a short distance down the road when suddenly, a loud squawking startled him and almost made him spin the car out of control.

"What the FUCK?"

A yellow blur launched its ambush and immediately attacked Romano's hair. The Italian cried out and swatted at his head frantically, trying to keep one hand on the wheel. The creature pulled and pecked at him relentlessly until Romano was finally able to pull over and stop the car.

When he did, he smoothed a hand over his tussled and abused scalp and looked down at the seat next to him to see an angry-looking bird staring back at him with ruffled feathers.

"Prussia's pet?" he muttered, earning an indignant chirp from his new passenger. "Get out of my car, bird. You're a freakin' driving hazard."

A few more pecks for his trouble, and the Italian was finally willing to negotiate.

"Chigiiii!" he cried as the bird pulled on his hair curl. "ALRIGHT, DAMMIT! You want me to help that obnoxious bastard, right? I'll go to France's and see if he has some fucking rope! Now STOP THAT!"

Satisfied, the chick settled herself on the head of the passenger's seat and chirped for him to get moving. Romano, in return, obliged and showed her a classic example of Italian driving.

England slipped into France's house, trying not to look too obvious. The Briton had convinced himself that he wasn't going to come tonight, yet here he was. It was now or never, and the Well had given him the final push he needed to muster up his courage and go along with France's plan, as inane as it sounded. He knew he'd have to force himself to confront the host, but fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't have to make much of an effort. France found him first.

"Ah! So my friend, _Angleterre_, decided to show up after all!" he shouted as he came up behind him, causing England to jump a foot in the air before reaching out an arm to anchor him down around the shoulders. "You are horribly late, _mon ami._"

"S-shut up! I wasn't going to come at all, frog!"

"Getting cold feet are we?" France asked slyly. "Well, you'd best act before you change your mind again, then. _Espana_'s waiting in the kitchen."

England gave him a doubtful look. He still wasn't completely sure that he was prepared to go through with this. It took a few tugs and a light stomp on his dragging feet to get him moving.

"Hurry up, _Angleterre!_ Before _Amérique _sees you."

Gilbird settled herself comfortably in Romano's hair as he made his way towards France's house. She pecked at his hair curl impatiently, trying to tell him to hurry up and quit taking half-steps.

"H-hey! Leave that alone! I'm going already, dammit!" the Italian protested, quickening his pace at last.

When he was barely inside the door, he was almost immediately jumped by his younger brother. Veneziano threw his arms around Romano's neck and swung, causing the older Italian to stagger forward slightly at the sudden added weight.

"Niichan! You made it! I thought you got lost on your way from the driveway!"

"Shut up, dumbass!" Romano growled, shoving his brother off of him. He'd strangle the idiot if he had startled the bird into crapping in his hair. "I only came to tell France I know where his moron of a friend is. OW!"

He rubbed the spot where Gilbird had pecked him as she hopped to another spot on his head and took his hair curl hostage once again. Throwing her a glare she couldn't see, the older Italian pushed past his brother and walked through the rest of the crowd. Veneziano followed closely.

France glanced at his watch and smiled. _It's time, _he thought. He was about to call for the guests' attention, when suddenly, Romano burst out of the crowd and marched over to him with an annoyed look on his face.

"Oy! Wine bastard!"

"Well, if it isn't _Sud de Italie_," the host remarked, looking genuinely surprised to see him. "You're just in time for the show."

Romano raised an eyebrow, forgetting his purpose for a moment.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, but instead of answering him, France raised his voice above the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! My darling guests. I regret to inform you that our pianist will be delayed a while longer. In the meantime, I have prepared some entertainment for you- in truth, it was chosen for a select few, but is nothing that cannot be enjoyed by all. Let us begin!"

With that, he motioned to the door and a pair of servants came out, each rolling before them an enormous cake. The crowd parted to let them through. France's stereo was blasting music as the confections made their appearance. One, an obnoxiously bright red, white, and blue one with five thick layers went to the right and stopped before a wide-eyed America. The other was a white cake with cocoa powder sprinkled all over it like tiramisu. It was more solid, however, and adorned with small circles of red and green frosting, mimicking tomatoes. It rolled up in front of a startled Romano, but that shock that was nothing compared to what came next.

The smiles and grins that were spread throughout the room turned into surprised gapes and raised eyebrows as a person burst out from each dessert and started to dance before their receiver. England burst out of the cake before America, and from the cake in front of Romano…came none other than Spain.

"W-WHAT THE FUCK? Romano shrieked for the second time that night.

Gilbird flapped her wings, startled and pulled on his hair, though he was already taking a few staggering steps back. His look was one of utter horror- not because of what Spain had just done, but because of what he was wearing. Or rather, not wearing.

The Spaniard still had his right arm in a sling colored like his flag and was wearing nothing else except a matching Speedo. England was in a similar state, minus the sling, but in addition to his Union Jack briefs, he wore a very heroic cape. As soon as the two appeared, they started dancing provocatively to the music, Spain thrusting his hips enthusiastically and England making more hesitant movements- the Briton didn't seem to be getting into the spirit of what he was doing. And who could blame him? His former colony was gaping at him as if he had sprouted two heads.

"I-IGGY?" America gasped in utter disbelief.

Romano's mouth was also hanging open, but he seemed unable to form coherent words. Spain winked at him and climbed out of the cake, getting frosting smeared all over his body. Romano stared at him, feeling a mixture of emotions- shock, anger, embarrassment…but mostly confusion and intimidation. Why was Spain doing this? Didn't he know that everyone could see him? The man was so stupid, so thoughtless. So sexy. That frosting looked fucking good. And now Romano felt extremely awkward.

"W-What the hell, bastard?" he yelped as the other man approached him.

"Romano!" Spain cried happily. "Please come home with-"

SMACK. The Italian couldn't take it anymore. This was all too much for him to handle. Feeling a hundred eyes on him, Romano dashed through the crowd, pushing everyone out of his way as he hightailed it for the door.

"Niichaaaan!" Veneziano called after him, but his brother didn't stop.

Spain was already bolting after him, following the path he had cleared through France's guests, but still not fast enough to keep up with the expert retreater.

"Romano! Romano, waaait!"

He was knocked aside by a mostly-nude England as the Briton followed Romano's example and raced for the door.

"Iggy! Iggy, waaait!" America yelled, and Spain was shoved roughly out of the way a second time.

The Spaniard groaned and held his sling, watching the other two nations disappear in the same direction his ex had. He quickly recovered and continued to give chase, bursting out the doors, down the hallway, and finally into the cool night air. When he reached the front of France's house, however, he found himself completely alone. He could barely see the silhouettes of the other three as they disappeared far off into the distance. Spain panted for breath and called out again desperately.

"ROMANOOOO!"

He took a step forward, about to run again, when suddenly, he was seized from behind. A blindfold was thrown over his face, and he was dragged away as he flailed helplessly with one arm.

"Stop! What are you doing? Let me go! Don't-! ROMANO! ROMA-!"

Then, he was quickly gagged, and the Spaniard found himself unable to cry out anymore. He struggled in vain as his captor forced him away, blind, mute, and heartbroken, unsure of where his ex-lover was headed or what would become of him now. He was trapped…and at this stranger's mercy.

* * *

**A/N: **Long awaited, I know. ^^; I'm sorry it took forever, but this was one of the biggest chapters that I've been waiting to write, so I wanted to take my time. I hope it came out alright! I debated changing Gilbird's gender after hearing him/her sound more like a male bird in Spain's CD, but I like her better as female, so I left it. She kinda reminds me of Remy from Ratatouille the way she controls Romano through his hair! XD

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it~ Let me know your thoughts and reactions!

Also, with winter break coming up, I'm going to be really busy the next few weeks, so please don't kill me for leaving you on a cliffhanger...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Austria could never remember a time when he had been more nervous. Wars and other challenges he had faced held no comparison to the situation he found himself in now. He was losing his composure, and that for him, was a very frightening thing. The aristocrat looked down at himself and fixed his new cravat, still bitter at his idiot of a host for ruining the first one. That wine stain would be difficult to get out. He almost considered leaving the party out of spite, but he knew there was no way he could ever do so, for mainly three reasons. One, of course, being that he was a gentleman and would not do something so distasteful or undignified. Another was that though the host was a moron, the guests who had come here tonight did not deserve to be denied their entertainment or the chance to listen to his beautiful piano playing. And the last, of course, was much more personal than all that.

The man sighed, checking his appearance in the mirror once more. He looked refined and proper enough on the outside, but within, he was a disastrous mess. It was stressful and frustrating to think that he could be flustered so easily, by a person he had a great deal of history with and should be used to by now. He and Hungary had lived together, united, and then had drifted apart when their countries had separated, but now their relationship was more that of close friends. However, he could never deny that he had feelings for the woman. She had always supported him, and during his times of greatest trouble, she had been there by his side. He would always be grateful for that. The Austrian had denied having feelings stronger than friendship for so long that to suddenly come out and say it after so many centuries seemed a daunting and impossible task. _Just stay calm,_ he told himself. _Let the piano speak for you with its melodic notes as your words._Music had always seemed to be the best form of expression for him when whatever he had wanted to say just wasn't enough.

Meanwhile, in the ballroom, Hungary was anxiously sipping her wine as she tried to help Germany calm down a restless Veneziano.

"But Germany! Romano-niichan ran away from the ball! How is Spain-niichan supposed to find him and live happily ever after if we don't go after him?"

The German grunted.

"Your brother is not Cinderella," he told the weepy-eyed Italian. "Spain has already gone after him. It's not as if Romano will just disappear, and we need to trust Spain to bring him back himself rather than risk ruining France's birthday party by piling out there after him too. Just relax and try to enjoy yourself."

"Germany's right," Hungary said. "Romano and Spain can take care of themselves. We shouldn't meddle in their business. The same goes for England and America. Sometimes having too many people involved can just make things worse and embarrassing for the two with the problem."

Usually Hungary didn't mind butting in to other people's lives now and then, but in this case, she could relate. She was grateful no one had bothered her about Austria lately, and she wanted to return the favor. Speaking of the man, she was beginning to grow more concerned about him as she noticed the seat by the piano was still empty. Where had he gone off to? She had seen the accident that had happened with the wine and heard France's announcement. Surely it didn't take that long to change a silly cravat. As she thought about it more, her imagination started taking her to places she wished it wouldn't. Maybe the Austrian had decided to leave the party early for some reason. Her stomach twisted at the thought, and she felt a depressing heaviness in her chest as she thought of how disappointed it would make her if she didn't get to see him again that night.

And then, there he was. Hungary was almost certain she was the first person who saw him, but soon after, the room began to quiet down as the Austrian made his way over to the piano and stood by it. He looked so elegant, so refined, as he patiently waited for the guests to fall completely silent and listen to him. Hungary took a few steps closer to the piano, and her lips curved into a smile as she watched the aristocratic man sweep his form down into a bow and call out to the audience.

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for allowing me the honor of playing for you tonight. I have prepared a special piece of my own creation that I would like to share with you this evening. It is dedicated to one very special person. I ask you to please listen and enjoy yourselves. Thank you."

Without further adieu, Austria took his place on the piano bench and set his fingers on the keys. He started with one of his regular original pieces, one he was sure Hungary could remember having heard several times before. This was the one from when they lived together under the Hapsburg family, the next was during the time they had shared a home with just the two of them under their united countries. Hungary listened quietly, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she associated each melody with its respective memory. Each song carried with it countless years of history and all the events and feelings tied within them. It was all so beautiful.

And then, Austria faltered. He had just finished the last song and was trying to begin his new one, the one he had recently created, when his fingers struck the wrong key, sending the offending note echoing throughout the room. He stared in shock at his hands, unable to believe he had made a mistake so early into the new piece.

The silence in the room was heavy. Everyone stared at the pianist, whose fingers twitched uncertainly as Austria willed himself to continue. Hungary took an anxious step towards him, but the man closed his eyes tightly, gave his head a shake as if to clear it, and with a single deep intake of breath, began to play again, sighing slowly as he did.

The music filled the room flawlessly once again, but there was something different about it this time. It was as if the sound was channeling all the tension Austria felt within himself as he increased the tempo and struck each key a little bit harder than usual. Hungary held her breath for a moment. This was all wrong. Instead of making her feel relaxed and happy, the music was making her nervous and unsettled. She couldn't ignore the strained expression on Austria's face. The man was trying so hard…His music was beautiful, but his aura was twisted and confused. Hungary had never found it hard to appreciate the sounds her friend had produced before, but she found herself frowning, biting on her lower lip, swaying on her feet as if still trying to decide whether or not to approach him.

And suddenly, Austria saw her. He saw the doubt and unease in her features as his wordless message reached her ears. Was his music that horrible? Did she despise him? Would her respect for him dissipate? The aristocrat's head was filled with a multitude of dreaded possibilities. And yet, he kept playing, the insecurity and worry he felt seeping in through his fingers and changing the tune. Hushed voices murmured around the room. Even the most oblivious guests could tell by now that this wasn't the piece Austria had intended to play. It was flowing in time with his emotions, untamed, unpredictable, and yet, never stopping or hitting a sour note.

Austria could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck and the heat on his cheeks. This wasn't going at all as planned. Should he stop? Would he look like a fool if he continued? The sounds coming out of the piano now were light and questioning. He was having trouble focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. The rest of his body felt incredibly stiff. If he wasn't able to relax soon, then the music would be-

Strong, yet gentle hands rested themselves on his shoulders. Austria froze, letting the room fall into complete silence. It was over, the music had stopped. All of his feelings were shut tight safely within him once again. Painfully within him. In spite of how reluctant Austria had been to express his emotions before, having them bottled up inside him again was far worse at the moment. He could feel the weight of the guests' stares. It wasn't until the fingers clenched around him started massaging him in a soothing motion that he was finally able to release some of his tension.

"Breathe," a voice behind him said quietly. "You can do this. I know you can…"

Austria followed the advice and inhaled. His fingers went back into motion and the music became slow, gentle. Hungary was here. She was with him. All the fear he had felt when he had imagined her leaving him slowly disappeared. He felt comforted, secure. He could do this; he had her support, and it was really all he needed. The aristocrat became more confident, quickly filling his song with more passion, trying to express the warm glow within his chest as he felt his love's hands on his shoulders. He could do this now. He _was_doing this. Smiles spread across the room as the guests watched the pair before them, a perfect partnership creating music for all of them to enjoy.

_I love you, I love you, I love you…_Austria wasn't sure if he had only been imagining the words as he played or if he had managed to utter them out through his mouth as well as his fingers. All he knew was that a moment later, Hungary was leaning down close to his ear and whispering in a soft, loving voice.

"I love you, too."

**Meanwhile…elsewhere**

Spain knelt on the cold stones of the courtyard floor as he continued to let out muffled cries of protest until his throat grew sore from it. His world was dark; he only knew he was still near France's house because his captor hadn't dragged him very far. The Spaniard was desperate and scared, but most of all he was overcome by a deep feeling of regret and sadness at the thought of Romano slipping further and further away. _Please let me go,_ he begged silently. _I still have to go after him…_

Then all of a sudden, the world was visible again. Spain blinked, looking around at his moonlight-bathed surroundings. It was definitely his friend's courtyard. The house wasn't too far away, but it was still far enough that the other guests wouldn't easily notice him. His eyes glanced over the rose bushes and other surrounding vegetation. For a moment, he almost thought he was alone until he turned his head back and saw his captor standing there, blindfold in his hand. Spain's eyes widened, and he let out an incoherent shout of the other man's name through the gag.

"Surprised, _Espagne?_I'm terribly sorry it had to come to this, but I saw no other way to get you to listen to me."

The green-eyed man shook his head in disbelief and struggled against his bonds, as the man ran a hand down his cheek and stepped over to stand in front of him, squatting down so the two were at eye level.

"Seriously, _mon ami,_what do I have to do? I told you Romano would run again, and we agreed when we planned this that if he did, you wouldn't chase him. Now why would you break our deal?"

Spain closed his eyes, which had begun to water and grunted something out. Frowning, his captor reached behind his head and undid the gag so the other man could answer him. Spain spit out the cloth and sucked his lip for a moment before looking up at his friend sadly.

"I'm sorry, France! But I can't keep that promise anymore…" he said. "I can't just forget about Romano! Even if he doesn't want to talk to me, I can't stop trying!"

"You're a fool!" France hissed. "How many times do I have to tell you before you get it? Romano doesn't love you! He's not coming back, so just forget about him and get over it!"

"No!" Spain argued, eyes glossy with tears. "I won't! You don't know him like I do, France! He does love me! He's just…not so good at showing it."

"Wake up, _Espagne,"_France said, shaking his head. "The boy wants nothing to do with you. You're wasting your time chasing him. If you really want him to be happy, you'll respect his wishes."

Spain sniffed, his throat tightening.

"But," he choked, "I want to be happy too…"

The Spaniard looked down at the cobblestones miserably. Was it true? Was chasing after Romano, who obviously didn't want to see him anymore, such a selfish thing? Spain's heart felt torn apart. What was the right thing to do? Imagining life without Romano was hard, almost impossible. But how could he force someone to stay with him who resisted him so much? _He loves me; he does. He's just denying it._However, the Spanish man could not hide the confusion and doubt on his own face even as he thought so.

France's voice softened, and he met Spain's eyes with gentle pity and a slight smile. He rubbed his friend's shoulder before reaching up to cup his chin and forcing him to look back at him.

"You _can_ be happy, _mon ami,_with someone who really loves you, not someone who pushes you away and runs from you on sight. You deserve someone who isn't afraid to show his feelings for you. If you opened your eyes a little, you might see that that person is not so far away."

Spain's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at first, soon followed by his eyes widening in shock as the Frenchman leaned forward and pressed his lips against his. France was gentle at first but soon became more passionate, capturing and claiming Spain's mouth for his own. His friend was too surprised to even move right away. When the Frenchman attempted to shove his tongue down Spain's throat, however, the other man finally came to his senses.

"F-france! Stop!" he sputtered, jerking his head away quickly. He gave the blonde a distressed look. "What are you doing?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" France demanded angrily, looking hurt at the other's rejection. "_You're_ the one I want! The _only_one I want, but also, the one I can never have! And why? Because you're still too busy chasing after your cute little henchman to even notice that I'm standing right here, waiting for you to come back and see me!"

Spain gaped at him for a moment, unsure about how to respond. All was silent save for one bird chirping up high in a tree somewhere nearby. He finally closed his mouth and looked back at his friend apologetically. He didn't want to hurt France after the other nation had laid his feelings bare before him, but he felt like he didn't have a choice. Thinking over his words carefully, he finally answered the blonde.

"I'm sorry, _Francia,_" he said, "but I don't have anything more to give you. You're my friend, and I love you, but not-, not the way I love him. There's only one Romano. I've watched over him most of his life, and even though he yells at me, and swears at me…even though he calls me names, and complains about me, and even hits me sometimes, he's mine. He's always needed me. And even now that he's all grown up and his own country, even though he's independent and doesn't rely on me for anything anymore…he's _still_mine. I know he doesn't think so, that's how I feel. He's the most important person to me, and there's a part of my heart that no one but him can claim. He thought I wanted his brother instead of him, but Ita-chan never belonged to me the way he did. You can't trade one Italy for another because they're two very, very different people. I was such a fool…When he left me, I thought I could use Veneziano to fill that hole he left in my heart. But it was impossible. Every time I looked at him, every time I got close to him, every time I tried to tell him I loved him- I kept seeing my Romano. And Ita-chan didn't even know what was going on! I was lucky…I finally stopped before it was too late. I thought I should just take some time to myself, some time to get over Romano…but then the Well happened. I found out Romano loved me. And I realized- I had to do whatever I could to get him back! No matter how stupid or crazy! That's why I've tried everything, and I'm not done trying yet!"

"You fool!" France cried. "You might think you're being heroic or romantic, but really, you're just being stubborn! Do you really think he's going to take you back if you keep pushing yourself on him? It's over! Let it go and move on! You could if you tried."

Spain shook his head and looked back up at his friend, crying openly now.

"I love him, France! Only him! And nothing's ever going to change that!"

"Fine then! Let him trample on your heart until there's nothing left! I tried, _Espagne,_but there's just no reasoning with you," the Frenchman said, getting dangerously close. "Perhaps I'm going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should try a different method of persuasion, hm?"

He ran a hand down Spain's smooth tanned chest, desire filling his eyes. The other hand was around the back of the Spaniard's neck, fingers curling around the short hairs at the base as France leaned closer. Spain took a moment to realize what was going on, but before he could even open his mouth to protest, France stopped suddenly. His face was stained red, and pieces of smashed tomato were falling down from his nose across his features. Spain knew that aim anywhere. It couldn't be!

"R-ROMANO?" he sputtered.

"Get your fucking hands off him, bastard!" the Italian snarled at France as he stepped out from behind one of the hedges, near the vegetable patch. In the trees, high above, Prussia's bird chirped, staring down at them.

Spain couldn't believe it. His Romano was here! He had come back! If he had not been tied up, he would have run over to hug him. For now, happiness was spread all across his features. France was far less amused.

"So, finally decided to come running back, did you? Well? What have you to say? That you love Spain? That you forgive your ex-lover and want to come home with him? It's a bit late for that, I think. You have another obstacle now, _mon ami. Moi._"

"I-I'm not afraid of you, dammit!" Romano growled, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "Let him go, bastard!"

"Not until you say it. Say it, Roma," the Frenchman mocked, making Romano twitch at the nickname he had only ever let Spain call him. "Tell _Espagne_ here how you really feel. If you _can._"

Romano squished one of the tomatoes he was holding as he clenched his hands furiously. France smirked back at him haughtily. He knew the Italian's weakness well, and he wasn't hesitant to use it against him. Maybe now Spain would finally see what Romano was incapable of…or at least acknowledge it.

"I…I…" the Italian began, trembling a bit, but he quickly screwed his eyes shut with anger and embarrassment. "N-no! Shut up! I'm not going to do it just because you told me to, you fucking wine bastard!"

He began pelting the fruits again, but France found that Spain made an excellent tomato shield and hid behind him. Romano glared at him as the blonde smirked and daringly leaned forward to lick some of the tomato juice from Spain's cheek.

That did it. What happened next was rather unexpected on France's part. One moment he was teasing the Italian, the next moment, he was pinned down underneath him as Romano lost all his inhibitions and assaulted France without hesitation. The usually weak and cowardly country was ablaze with powerful rage as he pummeled the Frenchman with both his fists and his words, a shocked and disbelieving Spain watching the two, wide-eyed.

"R-romano, stop! That's enough!"

But the Italian wasn't listening. Instead he was busy trying to keep the upper hand as France countered his attacks, the older and more experienced country refusing to take the abuse Romano was dealing. If this was a fight for Spain, neither was willing to lose.

"You brat!" France hissed, blocking Romano's next punch and grabbing him roughly by the collar.

He attempted to throw the younger man off of him, but Romano already had a tight hold on the blonde's long hair and yanked it painfully as he was shoved away. France gritted his teeth and kneed Romano hard in the ribs, causing the Italian to cry out and finally release him. The Frenchman took advantage of this moment and shifted all his weight to one side, effectively flipping them over and turning the tables as Romano struggled beneath him. France smirked and leaned close to him.

"Give it up, _mon petite._You know you can't win against me."

"Damn you…Go to hell, bastard!" Romano yelled and rammed his forehead into France's nose.

France reeled back and held his bleeding face, the look in his eyes turning from competitive to deadly.

"You…" he started, but was too angry to even finish his sentence. He gripped Romano's neck with one hand and raised the other to strike him as the Italian gasped and tried to free himself, choking.

France's hand came down. Romano squeezed his eyes shut. There was a thud above him as the blonde's hand made contact with something, and then the Italian opened his eyes to see- Spain. And it wasn't just the Spain he knew. It was a Spain he hadn't seen for a long time, the Spain that fought more than he smiled...a conquistador.

"France," he said, his voice far from the pleasant or pleading tone it usually was, "get off of him."

If history had ever taught France anything about Spain, it was that fighting against him when he had that merciless look in his eyes was a very dangerous thing. Never as long as he could remember could he recall Spain ever having a look in his eyes that was as serious as death itself. A look that told him if he didn't back away right at that instant, he would seriously regret it.

France immediately released his hold on Romano and withdrew. Spain, despite still being tied up with his arm in a sling, continued to give him the most intimidating look he could muster while Romano scrambled behind him and worked on releasing his bonds. France wiped the blood from under his nose as he looked at his friend coldly, a hurt expression on his face.

"Why him? You've been my friend for so long, _Espagne._Surely you must understand what I feel for you."

At that, the Spaniard's gaze finally softened, but not by much.

"If you really love me, then, you'll understand…It's not a feeling that can be erased or adjusted. I didn't mean to hurt you- I don't _want_ you to suffer, _Francia._But this is a battle you can't win. I love Romano, and I'll fight for him, even if I have to break your heart to do it. I'm sorry."

The rope fell to the floor, and Spain turned to face the Italian behind him.

"Roma…" He smiled sadly at the younger man, his eyes asking for forgiveness, hoping for acceptance, but it wasn't necessary. Without warning, Romano suddenly thrust himself at Spain, throwing his arms around his neck and pulling him close in a movement that caught the Spaniard completely by surprise.

"Spain…" Romano muttered by his ear.

"R-romano!" Spain threw his good arm around him and hugged him fiercely. The tears that had stopped only moments ago resurfaced. He couldn't believe it. He had his Romano back. He wanted to just hold onto him forever and never be separated from him again. After all the effort he had put into winning his love back, he had finally succeeded. "Roma…I missed you so much!"

"B-bastard!" Romano stuttered. "You stupid, stupid asshole." He gripped him tighter. Spain had even missed being called those names.

"I'm sorry, _Romanito._I want you to know I truly-"

"I heard you," the Italian interrupted, surprising Spain. "I heard everything. But…did you really mean it, bastard?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said!" Romano snapped. "About me and Vene and…"

He trailed off, too embarrassed to go into the details of Spain's words. The Spaniard looked at him quietly and then, giving a nod, held him closer, talking quietly as he pressed his cheek against Romano's.

"I meant it all. You're the one I've always loved, Roma. Not your brother. Not France. Not anyone. Only you. So please…will you love me again, too?"

"Stupid bastard," Romano replied, his voice choking. "I've always…I still love you, dammit."

That was what had made these past few weeks so hard- that even when he had been the most furious, even when he had cursed Spain's name and sworn to never see him again- the Italian's feelings had still been there, flickering behind his hardened heart. _I love you, dammit._

He rested his chin on Spain's shoulder and felt the other hold him close- as close as he could without smashing his arm in between them. Romano ran his fingers over the fabric of the red and yellow sling, and Spain smiled, pulling back slightly to kiss the Italian's cheeks, stopping the flow of tears that ran there. Damn, how Romano had missed the feel of those lips against his skin…

France watched from a distance silently. He wouldn't accept this loss. But he wouldn't fight with Spain anymore either. No, he was finished here. There was nothing more that he could do. He couldn't wrench Romano away or change Spain's mind by talking to him. Not when those two were like this. The Frenchman stood, frowning, ideas flowing through his head, but not a single option he liked or thought useful came to mind. _Is this fate, then? Have I done all I can?_He let out a sigh, wiping at his eyes before anyone could see the effect his loss had had on him.

"Congratulations, _Espagne,"_he said quietly, "You got exactly what you wanted… Wasn't I a good friend to you after all?"

Neither of the other two countries seemed to hear him, as they were too lost in their reunion. France forced a smile on his face and began to walking back to his house. There were guests waiting for him after all, and he would be a rude host indeed if he disappeared for too long.

"France!" Spain suddenly called out behind him. "Wait…"

The Frenchman paused but didn't turn around. What good were words now? He had heard plenty for one night. The blonde waited for a moment longer, letting out a deep sigh. Before the Spaniard could say anything else, however, the trio were interrupted by a loud squawking overhead. Two birds were flying in circles above them. One was distinguishable as Gilbird, the other was France's own bird, Pierre. Romano already knew why the duo was making such a racket. He had almost forgotten the reason Prussia's annoying pet had assaulted him during his escape from France's house and led him back here in the first place.

"The Potato Bastard's brother is trapped in the Well," he informed France. "This demented chick wouldn't leave me alone till I did something about it. The whole reason I even came to your damn party was to tell you so you could go save him yourself."

France looked at Romano unbelievingly and then back up at the birds.

"Is this true?"

The two squawked louder, and Pierre came down to land on France's shoulder and chirp in his ear more urgently. The blonde gave a nod and prepared to leave right away. The guests would have to wait after all; this was important.

"Spain," he said, turning to his friend. "Please tell the others that I had to leave suddenly and hope they'll accept my deepest apologies. Let them know I'll return as soon as possible with _Prusse_."

The Spaniard nodded slowly.

"France, I-"

"It doesn't matter anymore, _Espagne,_" the other man said quickly. "I am happy so long as you are happy. Now please, do as I've asked."

It was a lie, and even Spain could tell. Maybe it could be less painful…He knew France didn't want to draw it out any longer, however, and right now, he too was concerned for their friend.

"Bring him back safe," was all he said as he held Romano closer to him.

France gave a curt nod and was off at once, Pierre flapping behind him. Spain and Romano watched them go, finally alone together in the courtyard. The Spaniard held onto his lover as if he might disappear at any moment, but the Italian stayed still, thinking to himself. Finally, he spoke.

"This wasn't just another set-up…right?"

Spain's eyes widened unbelievingly.

"Of course not, _mi amor!_I had no idea you were even listening to me. That's the truth! But I'm glad you were finally able to hear what I've been trying to tell you all this time." He kissed him softly on the lips. "Really glad."

Romano blushed, turning his eyes back towards the ground. He sighed, tracing his fingers over Spain's shoulders. He muttered something under his breath that the other man would have had no hope of hearing had he not been so close to the Italian.

"I'm sorry, bastard…"

"For what?"

Another mumble.

"For not listening."

"Don't apologize," Spain replied. "You didn't do anything wrong."

_Too damn forgiving,_Romano thought, but he didn't want to think about the past anymore. Instead, he looked up into Spain's emerald eyes and cupped his jaw before leaning in and kissing his lover. This is what he wanted. This felt right. Nothing else mattered anymore. Spain responded eagerly, pressing himself against the Italian, wrapping his arm around his waist tightly. The kiss grew more heated, and soon Romano's hands were roaming all over the Spaniard's bare torso as the other man slipped his hand beneath his shirt. Their moment was only interrupted when a sudden annoyed squawking came from above them and Spain stopped, blinking at the white excrement that the Italian's head was now donning. Romano froze, putting a hand up to his hair and looking back at it before clenching it into a fist that trembled with rage.

"Dammit…I'LL KILL THAT FUCKING BIRD!"

"Isn't that Prussia's-?" Spain started before he was dragged away by the pissed off Italian.

"Ugh, come on, bastard! We're going home."

Spain was left dumbfounded for a moment as a single word repeated in his head. _Home._His home. Their home. He couldn't wipe the silly grin off his face as he followed Romano excitedly, almost making it all the way to their cars before he remembered what he had promised France and dragged a protesting Italian back to the house ("At least put some clothes on, you bastard!"). There, wearing Romano's coat, he made an announcement to all the guests informing them of the situation, and while the mass erupted in whispers and private conversations, Romano said a quick goodbye to Veneziano and pulled Spain back outside.

"Do you think Romano-niichan and Spain-niichan finally made up?" the younger Italian asked as he watched the couple leave.

"It certainly looks that way," Germany remarked. "I told you they didn't need any of our help."

"Ve~ Now they can live happily ever after!"

Germany just shook his head as the Italian began babbling to him. Austria played to piano while Hungary stood next to him and sang, her voice echoing from wall to wall. All of the couples began to dance in the center of the room as the night carried on, and somewhere far from the acres of Frances' estate, an American finally caught up to the Briton he'd been chasing for a good stretch of time.

* * *

**A/N: FINALLY. Well, you knew it was coming eventually. I'm sorry for the extremely long wait, but better late than never, right? Riiight? I do hope it was at least partly worth it. This chapter gave me an especially difficult time, and I'm still not 100% sure I'm satisfied with it, but it's done! ...Almost! There will be one more chapter to wrap things up. A big thank you to everyone who's been following this story. I've really enjoyed writing it and am looking forward to starting something new once it's done!**

**Please let me know what you think~**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

A certain area on the border of France and Spain was rather quiet this afternoon. The summer breeze was warm, and the only sounds that could be heard were those of nature herself- the birds singing cheerfully and the light shuffling of leaves as the wind blew gently against the trees. The peace could only last so long, however, when a man was on a mission. An awesome mission. A mission of…revenge.

Suddenly, the clearing went completely silent and instead, the air was filled with loud, obnoxious laughter as someone came thundering in, riding a giant vehicle. The ground crunched beneath its heavy wheels and the grass was torn away as a cement mixer barreled into the field and stopped right next to the deep, stone well in the center. Boots hit the ground and after a few adjustments, a shadow fell across the edge of the well as a man stared down into its depths.

"It's over for you, kesese! You've done all the damage you're going to do! Now your days of ruining lives are finished!"

It didn't matter that he was talking to an inanimate object. He was too awesome to care. As Prussia poured cement down into the abyss of the cursed well he had spent a week trapped in, he decided that he had never felt nobler. This was his service to society- no, the world! He'd rid the Earth of this abomination and never give it the chance to utter the words no one wanted to hear again!

He was leaning over the edge, feeling rather proud of himself, when suddenly, a voice shouted out behind him.

_"Prusse!"_

The albino jumped, wobbling precariously over the edge of the well he was leaning on. He let out a shriek as he tumbled towards the center, but hand reached out and grabbed him, reeling him back to safety.

"Now, now, _mon ami,_" the other man laughed. "We don't need a repeat of the last incident."

"I-I wasn't going to fall in!" Prussia gasped, biting back an "again." "I'm too awesome to fall into the same trap twice, you know!"

"Well, I'll stand by just in case then," France smirked. "What in the world are you up to, _Prusse_?"

The Prussian straightened up and grinned, pride returning to his face and glinting in his eyes.

"I'm doing mankind a favor," he stated boldly. "This well's not telling another truth ever again! From now on, people's secrets will stay where they belong! Hidden!"

"That's all very well," France laughed, with no pun intended. "But it'd be a terrible shame if you were sacrificed in the process and forever encased in the monument of your doom."

"Tch. Don't worry! I won't give you a reason to come saving me again! I can take care of myself!"

If he had to be honest with himself, Prussia would have to admit that he was embarrassed that his friend had needed to come to his rescue at all in the first place. But there was still a part of him that was secretly grateful, and it was lucky that France understood him enough to know that this part existed. The Frenchman smiled, resting his hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I know you can," the blonde replied. "But it doesn't hurt to have some insurance."

He gave Prussia's shoulder a squeeze, and the other man clapped him hard on the arm in response with a glint in his eye that said "thanks."

"Just wait till everyone else sees this. They'll all be thanking me! Kesese. Serves the damn thing right."

He pulled away from France to get a better look at his progress once again, when all of a sudden, the ground started shaking. Prussia gasped, taking a step away from the well and suddenly, France yanked him back towards the side of the cement truck as the Well of Uncomfortable Truths suddenly erupted, sending wet cement flying into the air like some kind of concrete volcano. The Frenchman held him tightly against the truck, and Prussia found himself holding onto his friend in spite of himself. His eyes were tightly closed for a moment and then he peeked slightly, assessing the damage he had caused to the clearing. Damn, it was a mess. Puddles of wet cement lay everywhere, and a few of the loose stones from the well had crumbled, leaving the structure looking like it was in ruins. From deep within the stony walls, an angry voice bellowed up at them.

**"All who turn a deaf ear to the truth will find themselves living a false life! Take heed and don't you dare attempt to silence me again…asshole."**

And with that, the Well went quiet. France and Prussia stared at it silently, still stunned by the sudden occurrence. Who would have known the Well would fight back? It was only after a few moments that they realized they were still clinging to one another. Both men couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Haha! You should have seen your face!" Prussia jeered, releasing France and holding his sides from how much it hurt.

"Oh, but I doubt it was as amusing as your own," the Frenchman retorted. "I was so sure you were about to wet yourself."

"Like hell I'd ever do anything as unawesome as that!" the Prussian yelled, but the grin was still wide across his face.

"Well, _mon ami,_your pants would suggest differently."

Crimson eyes widened and shot down to check himself immediately, but, finding his crotch quite dry, Prussia frowned in confusion and looked up at his friend again, only to see the other smirking teasingly as he reached around him and gave him a playful spank.

"Made you look," France laughed, thoroughly enjoying the look of shock on the albino's face.

"You…"

France was grateful for the head start his friend gave him as he began to dash away, both men still laughing.

/

England was sitting on the couch in America's living room, sipping on a cup of tea that was nowhere near as fine as his own, but still appreciated. After all, the younger nation had made it for him himself.

"I still can't believe you did that!" America laughed, sitting next to him with a cup of coffee in his hand. "There are easier ways to get my attention you know! Ways that don't require stripping…Not that I'm complaining!"

The Briton almost spat out the tea in his mouth.

"I was not _stripping_for you!"

"Oh, yeah, you were already stripped when you came out!"

"I-!"

England was losing his composure quickly, and he had to set the cup back on its saucer on the coffee table to keep from spilling its contents. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he had taken advice from _France_ of all people, and it had been such a ridiculous, embarrassing plan that he had agreed to go through with. _What was I thinking?_The nation couldn't believe he had been so desperate as to pop out of a cake mostly naked and dance just to get the American's attention. If it hadn't been for that bloody well and his own lack of judgment…

"I was forced," he finally settled on.

America raised an eyebrow.

"Forced, huh? So who put you up to it?"

"France, of course. Who do you think?"

It was true. More or less. America just stared at the older nation for a while before he burst out laughing. The Briton's mouth was slightly agape for a moment before he closed it to glare at the other country indignantly.

"I know! It was a ridiculous mistake, and I haven't the slightest idea what possessed me to do it in the first place."

"Really? I thought it was kind of awesome!"

England stared at the other man, dumbfounded. He certainly hadn't been expecting to hear that.

"You…you did?"

"Yeah, I mean, I never expected anything like that from you! Didn't even think you had the guts!"

England frowned at him.

"Well, maybe if you'd get your head out of the clouds and start paying attention to what's around you, I wouldn't have to resort to such- such-, erm…"

The Briton turned his reddened face away, holding his tongue and trying to get that ridiculous image of that cake dancer costume out of his head. He was going to kill France. The man must have hypnotized him or something. Yes, that was a perfectly valid assumption. Perhaps America would buy that.

He turned back the American to finish his statement, only to find the other alarmingly close. England let out a bit of a gasp and leaned away from him, his cheeks flushed red.

"W-what are you doing?" he burst out.

"What am I doing?" America laughed. "I'm giving you attention!"

"I want _personal space _too!"

"You can't have everything!" the other man answered. "Especially when the things you want conflict with each other."

He wrapped his arms around the other man suddenly and nuzzled into England's shoulder, making the older man go stiff. This was so embarrassing and undignified, but it was…kind of nice too. Wait, was he really allowing this? He could almost hear that frog's teasing voice in his head taunting. _Isn't this what you wanted, mon ami? You should be thanking me now…_No way he would ever be grateful to France, though! Not after what he had "made" him do. England tried to push America off of him, but his efforts fell short. Instead, he just rested his hands on the younger country's shoulders and gripped them tightly. He felt America's hand come up to his face and stroke his cheek, fingers running through the sandy blonde hair. The Briton's face became significantly more flushed, and he had trouble bringing his eyes up to meet the blue ones before him.

"You didn't have to do that," America's voice said, suddenly a bit more serious. "I've liked you for a long time, England. I would have tried harder to get closer to you if I had thought you actually wanted me to. You always act like you hate me, but I know you don't."

England swallowed thickly, eyes still averted. It took him a while to respond, but when he finally did, the words came to him easier than he would have thought they would.

"I never hated you, America. You're annoying, yes, and thick-headed and obnoxious and too childish for your own good-" he ignored the frown on the other's face "- but I've always cared about what you thought of me, and I just wanted you to…look up to me again. Like you used to."

The younger nation laughed, pulling back at bit and grinning widely at the nation next to him.

"Is that what this is about? You wanted to be the hero? Well, that explains the cape! I loved the heroic briefs too!"

England shoved the other man off of him, fuming.

"I'm trying to be honest with you, you bloody git! You can at least try to respect that and take things seriously for once!"

"Haha, I'm sorry…Really- H-hey, wait! England! Where are you going?"

"Away from here. I never should have let you convince me to come in the first place," the other nation replied, already making his way towards the door. "I was a fool to think you'd take my feelings seriously!"

"Wait, no! England!"

The Briton turned a deaf ear to the other and reached for the handle, but all at once, he was stopped by strong arms wrapping around his chest. The older man gasped in surprise. He hadn't expected his former colony to move that fast. Escape was rather impossible now as the other held him tightly against him.

"Don't go, please."

England scoffed.

"I don't see why I should stay. Give me one good reason."

It was then that he felt the American's lips press just behind his ear.

"I can give you more than one," the voice behind him said quietly and kissed him again. The Briton was blushing brightly as America stepped in front of him so he could see his face. "England, I meant what I said. I like you. I like you just the way you are, so you don't have to change for me. Really…"

There was honesty in his voice and affection in his eyes as he looked back at the older nation.

"So you're satisfied with this 'boring' self of mine? Am I interesting enough for you after all?" England asked with his usual sarcasm, though it was hard to keep frowning at a face like that.

"Yes, I'm very interested in you," America replied, leaning in so their noses almost touched. "Now will you sit down with me so we can finish our drinks?"

England sighed and finally consented ("Don't give me that kicked puppy face, you wanker!"). And despite his previous resolve to leave quickly, he stayed long past after the cups of tea and coffee were drained.

**And finally, at Spain's house…**

"The last box! You're finally all the way moved in, Roma!" Spain chirped happily, setting a large cardboard box full of Romano's belongings on the floor of his living room.

"Not yet, bastard," the Italian replied, picking up some of his possessions and putting them in their rightful place, slowly taking over half of his lover's house. "I still have to finish unpacking."

He was just putting some of his framed photos up on the mantelpiece when suddenly, Spain's arms wrapped around his waist and held him close. The Italian's breath hitched for a moment, but he soon relaxed, easing into the comforting embrace that he'd been deprived of all these weeks and hiding the blush on his cheeks.

"I'm so happy you're home," Spain sighed, burying his face in the crook of Romano's neck.

The Italian was quiet for a moment, slightly in awe of how badly he had missed the simplest of touches, the way Spain's hair tickled his jaw, the Spaniard's voice vibrating so close to his ear, the warmth of his body as it pressed against his…It was a wonder he had been able to get by so long without it. No wonder his month had been so miserable. What? No! He had been doing just fine…It was just- having this back really wasn't so bad. Maybe even wonderful.

"Yeah, I'm…I'm happy to be home too," Romano finally replied honestly, leaning back into the embrace.

Spain brought his head up a bit, kissing his lover on the cheek and resting his hands on the other's hips.

"Don't ever leave me again, Roma. Please," Spain murmured, keeping his grip tight, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The Italian shuffled a little, embarrassed by the other's words and not really sure how to respond. He had no intention of separating himself from Spain, not after all they had been though, and especially now that he knew the truth about how the Spaniard felt. His usual self-doubt and insecurity had been overcome. He had no reason to question Spain's love for him like he had done on and off for centuries. But would it last? Would Romano be able to avoid falling back into that uncertainty again?

"I won't," he said. "I can't. I…I'm not going anywhere, okay? You don't have to get all sappy about it, idiot. Can't you see all my shit is here? Can't you see _I'm_here? If I didn't want to stay, I wouldn't have come back. I'm stuck with you, bastard. And you're…you're stuck with me too, dammit."

He turned his head away and yelled in protest when Spain started snuggling him roughly, practically smothering the poor Italian.

"So cute! My Roma! I love youuuu!"

"CHIGIII! Let me go, you bastard! I still have to finish this, dammit!"

But despite the amount of verbal abuse he threw at his lover, Romano still didn't push him away. He whined and insulted and objected, but he made no move to force the Spaniard off of him. And so, Spain continued to snuggle and fuss over him until Romano finally turned around and allowed a kiss, and then, the two finished unpacking the Italian's boxes together.

Once they were done, Spain took Romano by the hand and led him out into the backyard and into the tomato fields.

"Come on, Roma! I need to show you something!"

"What is it, bastard?' the Italian murmured as he was jerked behind his excited lover, but even he couldn't hide the curiosity in his features.

The Spaniard didn't take him far. Once they were surrounded by tomatoes on all sides, he stopped and turned back to Romano, grinning widely.

"Look at our tomatoes! I took good care of them while you were gone. Aren't you happy, Roma?"

Romano looked around to see that the tomatoes were, indeed well-tended. Not that he had expected any less from Spain. The man loved the fruits as much as he did, and there was no way he'd let them wither, whether Romano was around to care or not.

"But…they almost died, you know," a voice said suddenly, snapping Romano out of his thoughts. The Italian gave Spain a confused look as he continued. "After you left, I was so useless…I forgot to come out here and water them. I didn't even come out to check on them once. But then I realized- these are _our_tomatoes. They were the last part of you I had to hold on to. So I watered them…I checked on them everyday, twice a day, and kept the bugs and pests away. The whole time I was taking care of them, I was thinking of you."

Romano stared at him for a moment, oddly touched. He had never thought about what it would be like to come back here and see the fields that he and Spain had kept up for ages falling apart. It would have really hurt him, he realized. Even though the fields had seen hard times in the past, especially during war and famine, they had always survived somehow or been resurrected. These tomatoes held a lot of memories for him, and it was only just now that Romano realized how much seeing them healthy mattered to him. It meant that times were good.

The Italian smiled a little, reaching out to take one of the red fruits in his palm and giving it a squeeze, feeling the degree of firmness that indicated it was almost ripe, but not quite yet. He remembered his impatience as a child, always wanting to eat the tomatoes as soon as they turned the slightest bit red, but Spain would stop him, reminding him that patience was often rewarded and how now and then, some things needed time to grow sweeter.

He felt a tug on his hand, and Romano turned around, surprised to see his lover kneeling in the dirt.

"What are you doing down there, bastard? Get up before-"

The Italian stopped suddenly, his mouth falling agape as realization clicked. The Spaniard was only down on one knee, and the hand that wasn't holding onto Romano's hand was digging into his pocket. Romano couldn't force any more words out of his mouth as his lover spoke to him.

"Italia Romano," Spain started, presenting the small black box. He opened the top to reveal a golden ring, a twining pattern etched onto its surface with what looked suspiciously like a tiny tomato in the center. "Will you let me take care of you too…forever?"

The Italian's throat tightened. His jaw moved up and down once in the attempt to form words, but none came. Instead, Romano was left feeling kind of like a fish, completely mute and dumbfounded. He hadn't been expecting this at all, and having been caught off guard, it was difficult for him to figure out just how to react. Spain looked up at him with bright green eyes that were practically beaming in anticipation. The silence was heavy, and Romano still had his hand around the tomato next to him, though it was now no longer attached to the plant. He squeezed it tightly, unable to contain his emotions.

"Y-you…you bastard!" he finally burst out, and before he knew it, a smashed tomato was dripping all down Spain's face.

The Spaniard blinked, wondering if this was a rejection or just an overexcited reflex on Romano's part, but fortunately, he didn't have to wonder long. The next moment, the Italian was kneeling down with him, arms wrapped around his neck, already kissing the tomato juice away.

"Is…is that a yes?" Spain chuckled when the other finally gave him a moment to breathe.

"Shut up, idiot," Romano murmured embarrassedly, but his hand was already closed around the ring box. "Why do you always have to do such stupid, corny, romantic things?"

"I thought you liked them," the other replied slyly as he kissed him on the cheek and nuzzled into his neck. "But I wish they wouldn't always end in me covered in tomato juice."

"I thought you liked that too," Romano said, smirking a little as he wiped some of the juice off his lover's face.

"I prefer your kisses."

The Italian apologized by pressing his lips against Spain's, holding him tightly and expressing his passion in a way he failed to by words alone. There were so many things he wanted to say right then, but he just didn't know how to make them come out right, dammit. At the moment, his mouth spoke more truth through his kisses, and this was the way that Spain understood him the best too. Romano had accepted his proposal.

Later that night, Veneziano came over, babbling excitedly to his brother about how happy he was that Spain and he were back together again and going on and on about what a wonderful time he had been having with Germany lately until Romano just wanted to grab him by the front of the shirt and throw him out the door. He didn't though. Instead, he listened and feigned interest, paying more attention to Spain who was laughing in response to Veneziano's babbling but stroking Romano's shoulder and holding his hand in his lap the entire time. Neither of them mentioned their engagement, preferring to keep the secret to themselves for a while longer. Spain didn't let go of the Italian's hand until it was time for their guest to leave.

"Oh, did you hear?" Veneziano questioned as the three of them walked to the door. "Mr. Austria and Ms. Hungary are holding a concert next week! Everyone liked their performance so much before that they're doing it again! You're coming, right?"

"Of course we'll be there!" Spain said happily, hugging Romano close to him with one arm despite the Italian's groan. "Won't we, Roma?"

Romano frowned, but seeing his brother's glowing face and feeling Spain's arm around him, he decided to give in for once.

"Sure," Romano grunted, smiling a little in spite of himself. "See you there, Vene."

His little brother hugged him excitedly, and then, bidding Spain and Romano goodnight, went off on his way back home. Spain let go of Romano and shut the door behind their guest, turning back to his lover with a gleam in his eye.

"Just the two of us now," he purred in a sexy low voice that made Romano's skin tingle. "Why don't we go upstairs?" He took a step closer to his lover and wrapped his arms around him, holding him against himself and planting small kisses, starting on his lips and trailing down to his neck. "We can go to bed early," the Spaniard murmured next to his ear, "and I could show you-" A kiss on his jaw. "-just how much-" A stealthy grope. "-I missed you." Spain brought his hand up and ran it through Romano's hair, taking that odd curl between his two fingers and pulling it up slowly. The Italian blushed and bit his lip to hold in that embarrassing cry, but Spain shifting his body and pushing him back so that Romano was pressed up against the wall was quickly making him lose his focus. His lover bent close and pressed his forehead against his, smiling widely and staring at him with bright green eyes full of warmth. "All of you." With that he leaned back and gave the hair curl a jerk. Romano lost it instantly.

"CHIGIIIII!"

That night, as Romano lay by Spain's side, sharing his warmth, he felt happier and more secure than he had ever felt in a long time. This was where he belonged. The Italian knew he could survive on his own. He was part of an independent country, strong in his own way, in a way that only few could see at times. Spain could definitely see it. The way his lover treasured him, put him before anyone else, and went to such great lengths to keep him close to him was enough for Romano to be convinced that he really did matter to him; he was someone important who had an immeasurable value and owned the heart of a proud and passionate nation. He was loved. He was Spain's. And truth be told, there was no way he could doubt it now.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **And so my year-long writing saga ends. I've been through a lot this year, including hopping back and forth across the globe to live in Japan, experiencing cultural traditions for the first time, falling in love with RPing, making friends in the fandom, avoiding earthquake damage, and moving futher down the country. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with me this far. Your patience and feedback are deeply appreciated, and the comments I've received are what motivated me to keep writing. OP, if you're still out there, thank you for this wonderful prompt. I hope I've given you what you wanted even though I took an absurdly long time to do so. Please forgive me for that…Better late than never, right? I hope you and everyone else are satisfied. Endings are so hard to write!

I have to apologize to France too for making him the bad guy of this story. You can take what you will from his and Prussia's scene. The important thing is that neither one of them is alone, and I like it that way. I'm also a fan of USUK, though I don't have a lot of experience writing it. I hope it came out decent. I wish I could have given the side pairings a bit more development, but I was happy with this and the AustriaxHungary. GerIta kind of snuck its way in there too.

I feel like I've learned a lot from writing this fic- from character dynamics to reader preferences. If I ever do a full edit, I'd like to fix Spain's song to be more grammatically correct and take the Japanese honorifics out as well as the "Iggy"s. I'm sorry if those bothered anyone. I'll try my best to avoid them in the future! Also, I kind of regret not using human names in here at all, especially between the lovers. But what's done is done! I'm proud of this fic, and though seeing it end is bittersweet, I'm really looking forward to writing something new. I'll take any suggestions you have into account. Thanks for reading!

Addio~  
**  
-K.I.**


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